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. 

Goodbye to An Old Friend

            I’m sitting here in front of this page feeling two things I haven’t felt in a long time. The first is true sadness. The second is intimidation.

            The sadness is easy to understand. I can be at times an emotional guy. I cry during sad scenes in movies- hell I cry during those medication commercials when they list all the side effects.

            The intimidation is harder to define, but understandable. I want to write something to honor you, to do you justice. To get right down to it, I want to make people that never got the opportunity to meet you, to know you, understand why I’m so sad.

*

            One of my earliest memories of you is opening the door for you to come in the house. You trotted down the hall, head cocked sideways, doing your little shuffle/dance on almost comically short legs. You looked at me as if to say; Hey newb, this is the part where you get me a treat. Who was I to argue?

            I can also remember when you knocked Gretchen down a peg or two, deservedly so. A dog 3 times your size, and 4 times your weight, no less. You didn’t take shit from nobody. I had no choice but to respect that.

            After that day, I realized there was more to you than I initially recognized. At first glance you were a curmudgeonous, food glutton who’s main accomplishments were sleeping 18 hours a day and having an on again-off again affair with the pet bed. But you were also ferociously loyal to those close to you, a fun-loving goofball, who at times reminded me of a dog much younger than he.

            Over time began to see you as ageless. In fact, that’s why all of this is so shocking. Deiter never gets sick, never takes ill. He has an iron stomach, and a secret stash of youthfulness for which people would kill. Deiter is there- Every. Damn. Morning. - to get his breakfast, doing that ridiculous little shuffle/dance, with his head cocked sideways, still looking at me, reminding me; Hey nothing has changed, this is the routine and you and I are going to do this dance til the end of time- Now feed me newb.

            But then this morning…you weren’t there. I didn’t wake up to the sound of your persistent whine, or your paws-out-stretched-in-a-double-high-five-Dachshund-meerkat stance. I woke up to the realization that we had lost you...

            You were your own individual, with your own loving personality. You may have been an old man, but you weren’t the mean elderly dog that I had assumed you to be. You may have started out as my “step-dog”, but you became my “Deiter-boy”, Deiter McDeiter”, “Deiter Burriter”… Although, it took us awhile to really get know and trust each other, I think our bond was stronger because it wasn’t an easy camaraderie at first. I am proud to have known you. Even more proud to have earned the right to call you my friend.

            R.I.P. buddy you will be missed. 

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?”