I try to remain upbeat and cheerful and there are moments when I actually feel that way. Waking to find Obama a winner on Wednesday was one of those and waking this morning to read of the Broncos comeback victory is certainly another. These were small spikes of joy in what has become a very flat and featureless world. I miss my dog. Oh sure I do what I have to do to keep moving forward. I still shave, shower, dress and go about the day as if nothing has changed but there is a numbness that hangs on me like a shroud and each day is not a thing to be savored but rather a thing to be endured. Each day passed, I tell myself, puts me closer to being whole again. But I can't feel the progress. I can't feel the weight on my heart lifting. There is just so much pain and it baffles me. I have lost other dogs, hell I have lost people, though the latter not unexpectedly, and I have not suffered like this. I must have really loved this little guy. More, I guess, than I realized at the time. He was a vital part of my every day. I relied on him for more than companionship, I relied on him for something deeper, something harder to define. Unconditional love for sure, affection, loyalty, joy, a lot of things jumbled in there and maybe that is just it. I relied on him to bring a multi-dimensional reality to my world and now he is gone and all that along with him. Oh man, this just sucks.
Sorry if I have bummed you all out. I suppose I just needed to get this said.
7 comments:
"Beau"
by Jimmy Stewart
He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn't come at all.
When he was young
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay,
He did things his way.
Discipline was not his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn't drag.
He'd dig up a rosebush just to spite me,
And when I'd grab him, he'd turn and bite me.
He bit lots of folks from day to day,
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn't read our meter,
He said we owned a real man-eater.
He set the house on fire
But the story's long to tell.
Suffice it to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.
On the evening walks, and Gloria took him,
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.
He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on,
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.
But every once in a while, he would stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face look around.
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
And would follow him where he was bound.
We are early-to-bedders at our house--
I guess I'm the first to retire.
And as I'd leave the room he'd look at me
And get up from his place by the fire.
He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs,
And I'd give him one for a while.
He would push it under the bed with his nose
And I'd fish it out with a smile.
And before very long
He'd tire of the ball
And be asleep in his corner
In no time at all.
And there were nights when I'd feel him
Climb upon our bed
And lie between us,
And I'd pat his head.
And there were nights when I'd feel this stare
And I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
And I reach out my hand and stroke his hair.
And sometimes I'd feel him sigh
and I think I know the reason why.
He would wake up at night
And he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,
And he'd be glad to have me near.
And now he's dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.
And there are nights when I think
I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he's not there.
Oh, how I wish that wasn't so,
I'll always love a dog named Beau.
Crap, now I'm crying.
I must say it took me years to get over Garp (have I yet?), but we got another dog so quickly (Watson) that while I still mourned, it was incredibly wonderful to have another lump of wiggly happy fur close by, to take care of and play with, to walk. Too fill those still moments when the hole of Garp would threaten to overtake me.
I totally understand how you feel. I had one cat that I loved so much, and when she died, I just cried for months whenever I thought about her. That was 10 years ago, and I still miss her, and I still get tears when I look at her picture or think about her. Some animals are just special.
On a COMPLETELY different note: what do you think having a hoops playing president will do for the country, for the sport? What do you think of his game?
Oh Pops, I'm so sorry you're suffering. You may not feel that things are changing inside you, but they are. The grief is doing its good work. Be gentle and kind with yourself and let it come, let it go. The suffering will change with time. It's okay to be with it while it does.
Some nights I dream about Max and I wake to a wet pillow, then find myself tearing up throughout the day. It's not the same, I know, because he's still alive and I can get news of him from Tim. But he's not with me. I miss having him in my day so much. My heart aches, sometimes it knocks the wind out of me when I think of him. So I can imagine what you're going through now. I'm sorry.
That Jimmy Stewart poem gets me every time....
Thank you all for your kind thoughts. We will be alright, I know. We are just waiting until we are solid enough to get another dog.
Loved the poem, it reminded me of my favorite "Rags" that I could never read without tearing up.
I've never seen Obama play, but I'm sure he must be a helluva competitor.
I, too, know how you feel. I never knew what "heartache" meant until I lose Rupert, my English bulldog. For months and months, and sometimes even now, years later, when I thought (think) of him, there's a physical pain in my chest. Dogs (and cats) are just so, so special. A house just is not a home without at least one.
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