The Price of a Memory

"...Sitting with Mama alone in her bedroom
She opened her eyes, and then squeezed my hand
She said, I have to go now, my time here is over
And with her final word, she tried to help me understand
Mama whispered softly, Time will ease your pain
Life's about changing, nothing ever stays the same

And she said, How can I help you to say goodbye?
It's OK to hurt, and it's OK to cry
Come, let me hold you and I will try
How can I help you to say goodbye?

How can I help you to say goodbye?"
-How Can I Help You Say Goodbye? by Patty Loveless


Little Footpad always loved visits to Grandmother's meadow. The Elder Wolf lived on the outskirts of his pack's lands and kept to a hill that was just high enough to look directly into the still white icecaps of the neighboring mountains. Footpad liked to pretend like only he knew the reason for that, and it was a great source of pride for the little pup. Of course, Grandmother would twist her greyed muzzle into a smirk when she thought about how he was the only one brazen enough to ask why she kept to herself on the borderlands.

With a nostalgic sigh, she would tell him...because he would so often the same question, as is the habit of pups... "Though the far lands are no longer my own, they once were, Little One. Here...here I feel as though I can still keep watch over what my mate and I once had even though it's no longer mine." Then she would speak in a voice much stronger than her age had begun to make her, "And no one can take that guardianship away from me."

Little Footpad would puff his messily furred chest out and strut about, very proud to come from such defiant and honorable stock. Then, with a flick of her paw, she would send him rolling into the white flowers and green grass around them. "Besides," she continued in a gentler and more humorous voice, "it is the job of the Elders to keep watch over the past so that you pups can look to the future."

Often, he would scare up bright yellow butterflies in the meadow after his youthful lack of attention would get the better of him, and he would paw at them with clumsily oversized paws. Always careful not to harm them, for killing something that was not considered prey would earn him a nip on the neck from Grandmother for sure.

...years later, a fully grown Footpad would sit underneath a similar tree and watch similar butterflies in a similar meadow. He was an educated enough wolf to know that butterflies lived but only a few days, and he felt sorry for them when he gave himself the time to think about it. But then the memories of Grandmother Wolf would come back to him...

...fluffy white blossoms above him in the trees and below him in the grass...
...the rich smell of Earth just awakened from Winter's slumber...
...Spring sunlight bathing the world in a white glow...
...the yellow of butterfly wings...
...and...Grandmother's smile.

All short-lived and priceless in their own time. All bittersweet. But he would smile when he thought about how the pain of change was more than worth the happiness of a good memory.



For my dear Footpad who has some very bittersweet days ahead of him. Wish I could offer you more than this and thoughts, Footpad. I hope it cheers you up a little!

Another little piece (measuring a collective 4" x 6") done with copic markers, brush pen, micron inks, and white gel pen on regular sketchbook paper. Matted with scrapbooking paper.