Namesake

Thinking about Derek, I look at Pickle. Funny how even new things in my life can bring me back to him.

I know I’ve quoted him a million times for this, but I just can’t help it. We were sitting in his room when he suddenly said, “Pickle.”

“What?”

“Remember that word: pickle”

“Why?”

“’Cause you gotta remember something in life.”

I have to admit that when I saw the post online for this dog, the name certainly caught my eye. It was the first thing I thought: remember that word. As I browsed her information, I knew that if we ended up together, the name would stick.

I don’t know how she got the name, but it really suits her perfectly, somehow. A woman in the park asked me if it was because she has such green eyes. Part of me wishes I could say I came up with it. Then again, it seems to have played a part in our union. I’m not one for the naming of things.

Our dogs were from the same litter. I can’t even remember how old I was, maybe seven? Fuzzy was mine, but she ran away in a snowstorm a few years later. Casey was Derek’s. We both had them from puppies. We saw them the day they were born, and we watched them grow.

Casey and Derek had the true man’s-best-friend relationship. She followed him everywhere. She’d constantly lay by his side. When we went for walks, she followed along, even when her bones became so old and tired. And even when Derek couldn’t pet her anymore, her ears perked at his voice.

I was always afraid that a day would come when I would have to tell Derek that she died. But I never did; it was the other way around, and we didn’t have to say anything—Casey knew.

As I look at Pickle, I pray for that bond. I pray that she would be my Casey.

Sometimes I worry about trying to move on by replacing Derek with other things. It’s crossed my mind with getting a dog. I like to take care of others. I was so lost without Derek because it meant I didn’t have someone who needed me to take care of them.

I’m realizing now that what one of my professor’s said was quite true. He was describing his children and how he didn’t realize the love you can have for each of them. He said having another child is like opening another room that you didn’t know existed—you don’t love the other any less, but you fill this whole room just as much.

This is Pickle. She is a new room. I love Derek just as much. I miss him just as much. But it’s not like there is a puppy running around in my love for him, trying to cover it all in dog hair and make it smell like piss.

I wonder if the door to the Derek room is closing or ever will. I think of Rilke’s quote, “Love the questions like locked rooms.” Are they locked because they are a surprise, or are they locked because you know what is in them and want to cherish it?