Patch In A Box

"Patch is ready to collect."
The Scottish voice on the other end of the phone said, cheerily. It was the vet.

For a split second time stood still and I thought "Oh good I can bring him home." Then I remembered.

It hit me like a sledgehammer: it wasn't my lovely, living, breathing Patch that was ready to collect - it was his body. Patch in a box.

I didn't want to collect him in a box. Couldn't face it.

"Patch is ready to collect....would you like to come with me or shall I bring him home when I go to the farm?" I asked Andy.

Why don't you just say what you mean? "Will you come with me? I Can't face collecting him alone. I don't want to collect him in a box."

"You bring him home - that's fine," Andy answered.

No - it's not fine - it's anything but fine!

Eventually, I told Andy and it wasn't a problem. He came with me and he went into the surgery and collected Patch whilst I sat in the car. I cradled the box all the way home.

"Now what do we do?" The voice inside my head screamed.

"We find something beautiful to make from what we have left to remind us every day of our lovely Patch. That is what we do."

So the hunt is on: find something beautiful that we can keep close to our hearts and cherish forever.