A Dog Beat Me Up

We waited there together, only I knowing her fate, her looking at me with trust and devotion. They came to take her away, an examination they said. She didn’t want to go, and she clung to me, climbed in my lap. No easy feat for a 50 pound dog.

                “No, go with him Bella, its gonna be okay.” I almost lost it right there. In social work they tell us never to say that to anyone. Don’t make statements you can’t guarantee, and all that. I wondered if that applied to dogs.

                Then I was alone. Thinking maybe they wouldn’t take her and we’d get to go home together anyway, for at least one more day. Internally: Maybe there was a chance I didn’t have to betray her after all. I secretly hoped that would be the case. Despite her bull-in-china-shop demeanor, despite the hours of potty training, despite every shouted “No!” I grew to love that dog. Because it wasn’t all bad, not even close, mostly just annoying at times. Moreover, her goofball personality and mischievous nature reminded me a lot of…well me.

                “David?”

                I looked at the clock, time had gotten away from me. I had been in the waiting room at the shelter nearly 25 minutes.

                The voice tried again, “David, we’ll take her. She did great,” said the shelter manager.

                Oh shoot, almost lost it again. I nodded, afraid to speak.

                “All we need is the surrender fee, unless you have any questions?”

                Again, no words. I shook my head and stood.    

                Oh hell. I realized I had to say goodbye. I knelt, repeating in my head; Don’t you do it, don’t you do it. I scratched behind her ears and patted her face. Ok still didn’t lose it. Keep it together. The shelter manager thought I was done, but no. I held her head and looked her in the eyes. Oh hell why’d you do that?  I stroked her muzzle one more time. If she would’ve understood, I would’ve said, “Sorry, I let you down girl.” Of course, that’s a lousy thing to say to someone knowing you’re not going to speak with them again. And certainly, understanding English, and understanding the sentiment behind that sentence are two different things.

                I turned away to go to the counter in my shame. A young man approached me, “Oh man why you givin’ up your dog?”

                I lost it. The tears came and I imagine much like during a bank robbery when the tellers signal the police, the customer service women at the counter probably triggered the “We’ve got a crier” alarm. Hurriedly, I paid the surrender fee and wiped my eyes and nose. As I hit the door I was already thinking about Bella. Where is she? Is she scared? And what got me the most is that I could guess, but I wouldn’t really know. All I could do was hope she was okay. It didn’t feel like enough, still doesn’t.

                In reality her greatest fault was she just being herself – a goofy puppy that had no idea how big she is, just needing attention. Hopefully, now she will find someone that can give her the time she needs.

                If you are in the Phoenix area and know of anyone (including yourself) that is looking for a fabulous puppy (shots up to date, crate and potty trained) then please keep an eye on:

https://www.halorescue.org/dogs

@HALOresQ - Facebook

But also look for this cutie once she's posted-

90 Days (AKA Marital Bliss)

When I think about how happy I am, I think of you.

When I think of you, I think of how different we are.

When I think about our differences, I think about your strength.

When I think about strength, I think about our love.

            Based on my past (or even my present) I cannot type this and proclaim to now be some expert on marriage. That assertion would be laughable. However, what I have learned is what works.

            There’s a lot that’s obvious to me after 3 months of marriage to you. Foremost among them, and as evidenced by the above half-assed haiku, I am no poet. The main thing though is that one key reason for a marriage to fail can be traced back to not knowing what you have until it’s gone.

            Even before our wedding I knew what I had in you. Someone that would support without nagging. Someone that would care without being critical. Someone who would love without judgment.

            I am free to be myself, even as that person subtly changes over time. That is something that I have never experienced with anyone else. The only expectations are: That I love you in return and make you happy. God help me if I ever falter on either of those two points.

            People always ask me, “David how will I know when it’s the right time to get married?”

            Nope wait, hold on - this has actually never happened. Alternatively, I insert myself in to their conversations about marriage straight away and tell them they are asking themselves the wrong question, and instead should be asking; “Have I found the right person to get married to?”

            People sometimes say, “Relationships are hard, relationships are work.” These people are wrong. If you are with the right person, relationships are easy. Getting along, living and loving together is effortless. You’ve reminded me what love is, and that marriage exists as an expression of and dedication to that rare kind of love.

            If I could ask anything of you after 3 months it would be simply; keep setting the tone, and I will keep doing my best to respond in kind. But as a reminder I am a slow learner when it comes to these matters, so please be patient.

Always know that I love you.

Last Trip to Mary's

It was late October in Tennessee. Abnormally warm for the time of year, as evidenced by the abundance of ladybugs that flittered everywhere throughout the backyard.  

My girlfriend and I stood talking across the fence that separated the neighbor's yard from Mary's. And yes, although the funeral was the next day, it was still Mary's yard. Everything still reflected her name, her presence, her life.  

As we spoke to the neighbor about when and where the ceremony was to be held, the ladybugs seemed to swarm us in the most innocent and inquiring of ways. Landing lightly here and there; on the nearby trees, the fence railing, even on the three of us as we talked.  

*          *          *

            December had come; it was now cold enough that you could see your breath in the air.      My girlfriend and her brother had decided it would be good for all involved that one last Christmas be spent at Mary’s. No it wasn’t an effort to reach backward for nostalgia, but rather an effort to extend her memory forward. So we went, my girlfriend and I from Arizona, loaded up our three dogs, and spent 22 hours traversing the country to return to Tennessee.

            I found myself on more than one occasion walking through a near-empty house and noticing how empty it felt without her there. I can only imagine what her own children thought, or how deeply this notion might’ve affected them.

             I will remember many things about this trip: the frigid temperatures that 12 year residents of central Arizona have long forgotten, the great times spent with a marvelous family I am lucky to be a part of, one of our dogs eating 31 (of a 32 pack) of Crayola crayons, the generous friends and acquaintances that have helped so much throughout this grim process, the copious amounts of food and drink that was consumed, the way frost-covered grass crunches under footfalls, and the laughter. Moreover, I will remember this as a trip that encompassed all good things; honor, memory and love.

            However, one memory stands out to me the most on the night before our departure. The day had been spent loading furniture, cleaning, and the demands of other backbreaking work.  We had nearly collapsed in what was left of the living room; two recliners that had belonged to her parents. My girlfriend and I were beyond weary when she called out, “Hey look!”

            My view tilted downward towards the arm of my chair where I spied a lone ladybug. The tiny insect was marching forward despite that fact it was late December and 15 degrees outside. We continued to watch the creature until it maneuvered out of sight. 

The Less Ordinary Life of Harold: Something Different

                Harold’s room is dark. There’s no lights, no TV, not even the glowing blue power light of his PlayStation. The street lights outside cast a pale amber glow across the floor from the window. It makes the space look sour.

 

 

            The boy who is normally full of whimsical, and yet often profound imaginative qualities looks sullen. He can usually be found doodling or reading comic books, but instead he sits slumped on his bed, staring at nothing, thinking of everything. His cheeks are puffy, red-hot and not quite wet from stale tears.

            After waiting to see if he snaps out of it on his own, Harold’s mom knocks, but opens the already cracked door at the same time.

            “You ready to tell me what happened today?”

            Harold sniffed, a thick snort filled the room. His mother handed him a tissue, and waited.

            “I got beat up.” Harold turned towards the window as he said the words.

            “Really?” his Mom looked him over. “You look fine. Are you okay?”

            Harold shrugged off the hand that inspected his face, “I’m fine Mom, it didn’t hurt,” this he said proudly, as he craned his neck back towards his mother. She could see in his eyes, he meant what he had said. The truth in his words was overwhelming. She wanted to hold him, hug him, but she resisted, knowing that wasn’t what he needed right now.

            “So?” she asked casually.

            Finally, Harold spoke, “Ronnie Danko called me ‘fat boy’ again today.”

            Harold’s Mom nodded.

            “I told him if he ever done it again, I was gonna punch him in the mouth.”

            “So what’d you do?”

            “I punched him in the mouth,” Harold giggled, and his Mom joined him in the laughter.

            “I take it there’s more to the story?”

            Harold nodded, “After I punched him, he didn’t fall. He came at me, knocked me down and kicked me in the stomach a few times before Mr. Rawls broke it up.”

            “Oh honey, I’m so sorry.”

            “The worst part was no one helped me. No one even yelled at him to stop.”

            She held his hand, he let her. Harold’s Mom wanted to cry for her son. She was furious as she imagined the crowd of students staring, mouths agape, fulfilling their role as nothing but spectators. She didn’t say what she was thinking, “What happened after?”

            “I dunno, not much.” Harold’s speech quickened though, “Mr. Rawls carted Ronnie off to the office, Trisha, that student-teacher, took me to the nurse.”

            “And?” the patience in her voice was profound, knowing.

            “When’s it go back to normal?”

            She thought she had been prepared for the question, any question. “Does what go back to normal?”

            “Me?” Harold paused, maybe struggling a bit to find words, which was never a problem for him under normal circumstances. “I feel empty, like he took what made me happy.”

            She could hold back no longer, she hugged Harold, tightly. “Don’t worry it’ll come back in time son, and it will be stronger than ever. You will be stronger than ever.”

            “Thanks Mom.”

            “Thanks for talkin’ to me,” she rose from his bed, and headed for the door.

            “Mom, I thought I had him you know? I just thought I had it figured out, how it would go. Thought, he would fall and not get back up.”

            She paused to look down at her son, “Sounds like you two have something in common. Only difference is he got up and kept going during the fight, you get to do it after.”

            Harold nodded. She hoped he understood as much as he seemed. “Oh by the way, there is one thing I know for sure little man.”

            “Ya, what’s that?”

            “That precise moment when you think you have things figured out, just know you don’t.”

            “So what do you do then?”

            “Something different.”

Closer to the End

This one is bound to be another melancholy endeavor, I imagine...but much like anything, its one of those damnable thoughts that has wormed its way into my brain, and I can’t get rid of it. The only way to let it go, is to write it away, so here I am. Or rather, if you’re reading this, here we are.

Without going into too many details death has been on my mind as of late. Although, with that being said, maybe it was there all along, I just didn’t see it clearly. I’ll take a second to reassure anyone reading this, it is not a welcome thought. I have not reverted to shopping at Hot Topic and wearing black nail polish. I view death with a stoic mysticism I reserve for little else. It does not frighten me, but neither is it welcomed.

But recently, as I saw yet another life pass from this world to the next, I thought after, about the hereafter. My mind cycled through the all the times I’ve been on hand, witnessing someone close, or even not so close, slip from this realm. I thought about how, in the end, for all our technology, for all our advances, all we can do is buy time. All the medical bills, all the procedures, all the money spent, only really amount to a few precious increments of time. Ultimately immeasurable, as even the experts seem to be unable to guarantee just how much time we get per dollar. When it comes down to it, this creates in me a sense of helplessness, tinged with anger. I despise not being able to act in a manner that assists those close to me.

Sitting in an office, I have been next to the person getting the news of a horrendous diagnosis many times. I look at them, I comfort them. I cry as they cry. Saying the lie we’ve all told at some point in our lives, “It’s all going to be okay.”

Outside of the hospital room, I have sulked gloomily, waiting for the final update. Knowing that sooner, rather than later, some person in a white coat will come by, and solemnly state, “They’ve passed.” This is usually done in an efficient manner so the person occupying that bed can be extradited, all so someone else may take their place.

I’ve been there I have been at the deathbed of a few special relatives. I have held their clammy hands in a mockery of solidarity, stared down nothing while they’ve stared down death.

My eyes have seen the shovelfuls of dirt fall, explode into tiny granules as they collide with the top of a casket from above. I have heard the prayers uttered by clergy, often evoking sobs from the crowd, no matter how small or large.

These images are universal of course. While we may not all fear death, most of us avoid thinking about it, letting alone talking about it. Afterall, why focus on death when there’s so much living to do?

However, this time that little thought I referenced earlier slipped into my head, nesting there. Perhaps it snuck in past an inflamed tear duct, and fast tracked its way to my brain, where it made itself quite comfortable.

That thought was the realization that one day...I wouldn’t  merely be the one sitting next to the person getting the bad news, nor would I be the one waiting outside the hospital room, or even holding the hand of the person that was facing death. I would be the one the bad news would be about, the one in the hospital bed, the one in the ground, rather than observing from above it.

With that my friends it seems appropriate to say what many have said before me; do not wait. Do not hesitate. If you want something, go after it, if you love someone let them know. If you hate your job, find another, if you hate where you live, find somewhere else.

Life is too short to regret, the closer to the end I get, the more I see that.

Good luck and Godspeed,

- David

Everything's Gonna be OK?

I saw Tim walk into the break room, shoulders hunched, head down carrying his red Igloo cooler.  

“How’s it going Tim?” I did it, I asked the question to which no one really wants to hear the answer. Based on the most current office gossip I realized I already knew the answer anyway, which made my question all the more regrettable. From my perch against the counter, I took a swig of soda.

Tim looked up at me with those basset hound eyes life had recently given him, “Do you really want to know?” He made his way to an empty table, manhandled a seat, and plopped himself down along with his things.

Internally, I gasped, he had given me an out. “Yes of course.”

Wait, what the hell did I say that for?

Tim cocked his head to one side. It would’ve reminded me of that canine head tilt, but in his eyes I saw no confusion, only suspicion. He raised his eyebrows, as if to say, Are you sure?

“Let’s hear it,” damn it I was too polite. I barely knew Tim and I didn’t think that whatever he was about to tell me I was qualified to hear as a random co-worker .

“Well you heard about Heather?” he said it as if he were testing me, feeling out the level at which I had dipped my feet into the stream of office gossip.

I nodded, as Tim unpacked the contents of his cooler. I saw the main course of his lunch was some mystery concoction of a light brown globular mixture in a tupperware container. He also set aside a smaller container which held a brownie, last was a bottle of generic sports drink. I remember because the pale blue liquid matched his eyes.

Tim’s eyes told me he already knew that I had known about his wife’s condition. “She’s gotten worse,” his words were sharp, short and to the point.

I was in too deep, and I felt like Tim needed an outlet, so I did the unthinkable. “Hmm, how is she doing?”

Tim shot those skeptical eyes my way again, still not sure if I was truly asking because I cared, or asking out of some poorly constructed sense of duty. I wasn’t sure myself. “Bedridden, for, “ he looked at the ceiling for an answer, “oh about a week now.”

“Sorry to hear man.”

“Yeah, she’s losing a lot of mobility.”

“Oh yikes,” I sighed, “so any positives, hints of improvements?”

“Nope,” Tim popped open his container of brown goo.

I tried to change the subject, “Whatcha got for lunch there?”

He didn’t take the bait, or the hint.

“She’s having trouble taking care of herself, so it’s getting harder on me, physically...mentally.”

“Can you get any sort of help with that?”

I didn’t expect Tim to respond with any humor, even if glib, but he did, “Are you volunteering?” the comment was flaky and dry.

I forced a chuckle. “Well I meant family, that sort of thing?”

“Heather’s family? Bunch of backwards religious fanatics. My family? Elitist rat racers. So no I doubt it,” Tim’s voice lowered, “I mean honestly it’d be nice just to get someone in there to deal with her incontinence.”  

I broke eye contact with Tim. In desperation, I turned to the only phrase that came to mind, “Everything is going to be okay.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed and his lips became tight. “How dare you.”

“Huh?” I sipped on my Mountain Dew.  

“I tell you that I’ve spent the last week cleaning up my dying wife’s shit and the best you can do is ‘everything is going to be okay?’”

Tim’s comment should’ve thrown me, or pissed me off. Afterall, I didn’t volunteer to be the one for him to take his anger out on. But as I looked him over and tried to think of how to respond, I saw his face for the first time, really saw it I mean. I had worked with this guy for three years and never really knew what he looked like. And what he looked like was a man that had let life walk all over him.

When I remained silent Tim barely hesitated in berating me again, “I guess the next thing you’re going to say is ‘In time I’ll get over her’ right? That seems to be a popular phrase too, like everyone’s already preparing me for the worst. Well god dammit she’s my wife! How the hell could anyone think I’d want to get over the love of my life?”

Tim began to sob, I didn’t speak. I just let him, let me (and everyone else) that had made one of these empty, self-serving comments have it.

Tim pushed his lunch away in disgust. “Chose your words more wisely next time.”

 

Disconnected (Part 2 of 2)

“Thanks for calling honey, it’s good to hear from you.”

June, her gold-blonde curls defying her age, sat smoking a cigarette in her kitchen. A cell phone balanced loosely between her ear and palm. She’s shaking mildly, and her eyes are red and swollen.

“Well, I told him we were going to see Grandma Hale because he thinks she’s still in the hospital,” the woman sniffs back a sob, “He was angry with me that I woke him up. But instead of telling me something, he just stared at me, his eyes going all blank… he couldn’t even tell that the coffee was too hot, or let me know that he had burnt his tongue.” This time June couldn’t help herself, the tears came.

“Sorry honey. Yes I’m ok, in fact I probably need to get it off my chest. No, on the car ride he was just as distant, only a blank stare out the window. Although, the off and on spark in his eye, gave away the fact that I think deep down he knew we weren’t going to St. Joseph’s.”

“And as silly as it sounds I took Abbey along so he could say goodbye. Oh no, I think she knew, she was whining the whole way there, and you should’ve seen her once we got to the room!”

“No I just couldn’t bear to stay. The attending physician said that with his condition he would probably benefit from a clean break, he would adjust more quickly without my hovering over him.”

“Yes, I’ll visit him on Wednesday, I guess they recommended a transition period of at least 72 hours. I just hope the adjustment is a smooth one. I pray he isn’t lonely or scared. Oh, and I found the strangest thing yesterday when I was cleaning the spare room-” June laughed, and the miserable strain on her face lifted for just a brief moment. “Yes, okay your room. Anyway, your father must’ve been hoarding his drawings in there for who knows how long. Tucked away in one of the computer desk drawers were dozens of scribbles of orange and white stick figures of elephants. I don’t know why he would’ve been fixated on such a thing.”

June paused to let out a sigh before beginning to speak again.

“You know what I find myself wondering most of all?” The daughter on the opposite end of the phone caught the sadness in her mother’s voice. She remained quiet, only listening, knowing her mother needed to let it out, all of it. June’s voice audibly cracked from the emotional strain, but the words were genuine, and she forced herself to see them through. “I wonder, when he slips away, and his eyes get that glassy distance in them, what he sees when he no longer sees me?”

 

   

 

Disconnected (Part 1 of 2)

I woke Sunday morning to the gentle reminder of my wife June, saying that we were going to visit her grandmother in the hospital. I didn’t take it well. I was grumpy, maybe even irate with her, for some reason I couldn’t control myself. I yelled at her because I wanted to sleep in, it was Sunday after all. Admittedly, after I admonished her for waking me up, I felt guilty, but when I tried to tell her the words just wouldn’t come. I even felt bad, maybe even confused by that. If I was being honest, it might’ve scared me.

With her insistence, I got up and got ready, the coffee she made me was too hot. Though due to my outburst when she woke me I let it slide, unfortunately this upset her when I inexplicably burned my tongue. Again, I found myself unable to communicate this to her quickly enough, even as I could feel the liquid searing my taste buds.

The car ride to the hospital was quiet, June seemed troubled. I suspect she was upset with me because of my shenanigans earlier that morning.  I wanted to ask her about it, but I was too ashamed, so I kept to myself, mostly watching the scenery fly by outside. Fields of tall light green grasses swayed in the wind. I watched this occur for miles at a stretch as we sped along the highway.       

Distantly, I recollected that this was not in fact the way to St. Joseph’s. For a moment there was a fleeting feeling that I should tell June that she was headed the wrong way. Again, my self-confidence didn’t allow for this, and instead I returned to my window watching.

I also thought it was strange that she had loaded Abbey, our golden retriever into the backseat. I didn’t make it out to hospitals much anymore, but I thought the medical community generally frowned upon dogs in hospices. This I did end up asking June about, but much to my surprise, all my mouth could muster was, “Abbey’s here?”

“Yes dear,” she replied, “she’s coming with us.” Her eyes went immediately back to the road, but she gently stroked her hand across mine. It was her way of reassuring me, letting me know that everything would be alright.

The drive ended later than I expected and when we arrived at St. Joseph’s it looked drastically different than what I’d remembered. “This is it?”, I asked June while trying to disguise the confusion in my voice.

Again I felt her rub my hand with hers. She didn’t say anything. Together, along with Abbey, we walked hand in hand to the front door. June had me wait with the dog in the entryway while she went inside to chat with the young woman at the front desk. Briefly, I glanced around the place. If I had to describe it in a word, it would’ve been ‘drab’. If I’d been allowed two words, the second would’ve been ‘depressing’. The lobby was that stale yellow wallpaper that hadn’t been seen since that the seventies, and with good reason. Fake plants had taken root, flanking the reception desk on either side. It was dim inside, as if the day’s full sun hadn’t yet made its way past the walls here. It looked a lot like the hospital in which my father had passed nearly two decades ago.

I didn’t like it.

June came back after a few moments and we all followed a woman in pink and purple scrubs to a small waiting room. She told us someone would be right with us and smiled as she shut the door.  Inside, was a small two-seater couch and a coffee table with a stack of six month old magazines speed across its surface.  Abbey curled up at our feet, and looked up at me with those expressive eyes of hers. I stroked her neck like she liked and turned to June, “Abbey seems concerned, you see the way she’s looking at me?” Staring back at Abbey, I began in a sing-songy voice, “I’m okay girl, everything’s fine! You’re a good girl!”

When I turned my gaze back to June her eyes looked heavy. After thirty-seven years of marriage, I knew when something was weighing on her. Experience also told me that it was futile to ask, she wouldn’t budge in telling me what she was hiding behind those eyes until she was good and ready.

We continued to wait, the silence similar to that of the car ride over. I thought June might be concerned to see her grandmother in less than good health. I attributed her silence to that fact. My silence however, was inexplicable to even me. Normally, I was pretty jovial, making comments about our surroundings, cracking jokes, or even bringing up news or current events. For some reason I couldn’t muster it this day. Then again, I tried real hard and couldn’t come up with the last time I had done any of those things.

I was pulled from my thoughts as June excused herself she said he needed to use the restroom and she was going to check with the staff, as we had been waiting for a long while.

I stayed back with Abbey wishing we had brought something to help keep her entertained.   Regardless, I repeated the ridiculous baby talk that parents and pet owners say to their respective kids and rubbed her belly to make sure she wouldn’t get restless.

The downside was, I was the one that ended up getting restless. It seemed June was taking a long time to find help from the staff. I didn’t want to seem impatient or show that I didn’t think she could handle it herself so I waited about an hour before it occurred to me to go check on her. I left Abbey in the waiting room, closing the door behind me as I went.

I wondered the halls, noting that the layout seemed different than before. I didn’t see the drab yellow wallpaper, the front desk was no longer where I had left it upon arriving. This frightened me, I wanted to find June right away. The young woman who had been attending the front desk was no longer there, now a dark haired man with a thin mustache waved and smiled at me as I approached.

“Where’s June?” I quickly realized he wouldn’t have known who she was, and added, “My wife; glasses, gold-blonde hair?”

The man nodded as if he didn’t understand what I had said, and replied with a strange follow-up, “Good morning would you like to take a walk outside Mr. Turner?”

This idea appealed to me greatly, and proved distracting. What had I come out here for to begin with? “Yes, let me go get my dog.” I trotted back to the waiting room, thinking that Abbey might need to stretch her legs.

When I returned to the waiting room, it appeared empty. Abbey was gone. There was no trace of her, not even her leash. I paused, grappling with my own bewilderment. I was too weak to even call out her name, as the chill of fear stiffened my veins. I stood still, only to find myself rocking back and forth. I wasn’t entirely voluntary. I wanted June to be there with me.  Where had she gone? Why wasn’t she back yet?  

“Mr. Turner?” a few quick knocks against the open door frame behind me. It was that little mustached man. “Still want to go outside and take a stroll?”

I felt myself nodding, despite the fact that I knew there was something I should be doing, someone I should be looking for…

“Are you ready?”

I nodded, and the mustached man took my arm, and led me outside.  As we exited I saw a grand outdoor stage, currently draped in a luxurious velvet curtain. I couldn’t contain my excitement. I asked the mustached man, “Will they have a show today?”

I saw him try to look around, to see what I was seeing, as if the stage wasn’t even there. Eventually he said, “Yes, Mr. Turner they’ll be something going on later this morning on the lawn. We usually hold a brunch there under the gazebo for residents and their visitors.”

I took my cell phone from my pocket and snapped a picture. I nodded, even though I felt his answer was not to my question. “June is missing out! Pretty fancy stage, for a hosp-” Where was I again?   I wanted to ask the mustached man, but to ask the question seemed somehow embarrassing. I should know where I’m at. But I couldn’t focus on that for long, as I turned I saw the magnificent gardens, the fancy landscaping stretched on for miles. At the side of the walkway every so often was a flag, showing what I could only assume was the logo of the place. It was white, with an orange border and had what resembled a simple drawing of an elephant in its center.

I didn’t know what to make of this, but was quickly captivated by the lush flowers that made up the garden beds all around me. It was beautiful, and well maintained to boot. I couldn’t recall the last time I had seen so many varieties of roses, and so many colors, colors that I never realized roses even came in; traditional reds and pinks, but as I continued to look, I noted blues and yellows, purples and blacks. All of them adorning the ground in arranged waves of color, like a rainbow had fallen from the sky.

I went for my cell phone again, snapping as many pictures as I could. Thinking that I knew someone that would want to see this gorgeous site. I paused trying to remember who it was I wanted to share this experience with, but found it beyond me.

Regardless, I carried on taking in the vast grounds. Just above the rows of flowers was a large stone fountain, its centerpiece a wonderfully sculpted copper lizard that had developed its own striking patina. It didn’t spray water from its mouth, but its feet sat within the small collecting pool at the base of the fountain. It was lovely. When I went to snap its picture, I thought my eyes might be playing tricks. While looking through the viewfinder on my phone, I saw the lizard ripple and shake as though it was an image reflected on the surface of a pond. I lowered the phone from view, and everything returned to normal. When I finally snapped the picture, the phenomenon had ended.

Continuing to take it all in I noticed the courtyard began to climb up a gradual hill. Abbey would’ve loved this. Which led to wondering where she was. I looked to the sky, which had just started to cloud. This led to thinking of June, and how she loved the rain. I wondered where she had gotten off to.

TO BE CONTINUED

Rules of Disengagement

 It was asked of me recently by several people, “David you’re an expert on relationships; how do you find closure when a relationship reaches its end?”

                Ok well that’s not exactly true. It was more like; “David you’ve screwed up a lot of relationships, how do you find closure?” Oh, and it was just one person that asked me.

                Alright-alright, it was one person that asked a totally different person, but I wanted to write about it so here we are!

                At any rate, I’ve given this a lot of thought and I’ve come up with a few things that might help those coming out of a long-term significant romantic relationship. Oh, and I might mention that this list is not for those that were “in the right” up to the terminus of the association. Quite to the contrary, I believe about writing what I know, and therefore this list is for the ones that, as some country songs like to say, “done wrong”, and not those that “got done wrong”. Besides you Goody two-shoes have your moral high ground to revel in, and aren’t in need of any guidance.

                The below worked for me, maybe grudgingly, (and not perfectly every step of the way) but because of these steps, or loose rules I’ve personally made some progress over the years.* Ɨ

                Enjoy!

1)      Try to pinpoint the “why”

The first and maybe most important thing I could offer is sit down and think why is it you still can’t let go of this person? Often times it’s because people have a tendency to create a mental highlight reel of a relationship when it wasn’t really all handstands on the beach, intense orgasms in Mexican restaurants and chimichangas in bed (I may have mixed some of these up, but then again maybe not). We do this because the mind “wants” that person back. However, when you get down to the brass tacks of it, you may find that you don’t want that person at all. You want the feeling you had when you were with them (love, security, confidence, hope). Or worse yet, you want them back because you don’t want to go down in the history books as the bad guy, or bad girl. Deep down you may think getting a second chance would solve everything. Trust me, it won’t they are your ex for a distinct reason, or perhaps several.

2)      Forgiveness isn’t promised

Don’t be surprised if your ex holds a grudge. If you wronged that person, or even if there is a perception of wrongdoing, they may not be so quick to tell you those words you may desperately want to hear. Guess what though; the trick is accepting that the most important forgiveness you can receive is your own. You need permission from yourself to say, “I made a mistake, I was wrong, it happens, but it’s not the end of the world.” I know that sounds trite, but that doesn’t make it any less helpful.  Further, as time passes don’t expect your ex to acknowledge your individual progress, and don’t engage in self-improvement to secretly win back their affection, or subversively rub it in their face. Chances are they don’t care, and it’s not about them, it about bettering yourself. You need not involve the other party in your closure. Own it.

3)      You can’t change the past

Whether you have begged forgiveness and fallen on the proverbial sword, or you cannot fathom what you did to give offense to your ex partner, it is what it is. You can’t change what has already taken place. Let the past stay buried.

4)      Learn a Lesson

After all this introspection hopefully you have some lesson, no matter how large or small to take away from the relationship. Maybe you were too good in bed; too devoted, overly beautiful (these are probably not true by the way). Whatever, the reason, that’s your takeaway. Now you can go and work on it, correct it, so you don’t make the same mistake in your next relationship. And yes, though it may be hard to believe now, there will be a next relationship.  

5)      Come to Terms

There are people in this world that aren’t meant to be together. There are people that fall out of love. Every. Damn. Day. The best thing you can do for yourself after healing is to take a step closer to finding the person who is destined for you, rather than pining over the one that’s not.

*Note: David IWriteStuff is NOT a licensed therapist, certified on any medical board and has trouble doing rudimentary math equations. You follow and/or apply the above list at your own risk.

Ɨ Side effects may include, but are not limited to the following:

o   being happy

o   being unhappy

o   breast tenderness or enlargement or unusual secretion of milk (in females)

o   cold sweats

o   convulsions

o   diarrhea

o   difficulty concentrating (also a side effect of reading blogs)

o   drowsiness

o   drunkenness (also a side effect of writing blogs)

o   growth of a third eye

o   increased hunger

o   increased thirst

o   making bulleted lists

o   overactive reflexes

o   painful urination

o   penis enlargement (in males)

o   pleasurable urination

o   pointing out the flaws in others

o   polka dots on the skin

o   polka dancing

o   vertigo

o   spontaneous combustion

o   sweating in places without sweat glands

o   talking or acting with excitement you cannot control