A Singular Experience

I've had a million boyfriends. OK, not a million. Let's just say I've had many romantic relationships. I've lived in cities, suburbs and small towns on the west coast, east coast and midwest of the U.S. I've had a career of careers, every hair color you can imagine (platinum blonde was a Really Bad Idea, aubergine purple looked surprisingly good). I've been a vegetarian, omnivore, carnivore. I've been Jewish, Pagan, Shaman, practiced Buddhism, studied Hinduism. Etc. But in my whole, pretty long life, I've had just one dog.

That accounts for the fact that, though I was very devoted, I was inept in my role as alpha. I was no dog whisperer, oh no. There were other ways I never quite fit in to the swing of dog ownership. For instance, I never could relate to the "mom" thing, a convention at least here in the U.S. In fact when people called me Jake's "mom" I was always slightly offended. I am not a dog and did not ever give birth to a dog. Ewww. In fact, the inter-species connection is what I found so fascinating about our relationship. The fact that I was not his mom is what worked for me. As you can imagine, I stopped trying to explain this a number of years ago.

The uniqueness of my relationship with Jake figures as one reason why I am still struggling so hard to let go. I'm OK; I'm functional, but I'm steeped in sadness and longing. To be honest, that feeling has not even begun to subside, though at least I'm not crying in public anymore. Thank God for that!

Today is the full moon; there will be a minor eclipse sometime today. I'm hoping that the peak of the moon will help shake me out of the pattern of mourning, at least a little bit. Also today is the one week anniversary of Jake's death. Maybe the passage through the seventh day will help me ease up, too. Do you think? I'm praying for a shift of some kind.

He was my best friend for fourteen years. I miss him terribly.

White Flowers

Last night
in the fields
I lay down in the darkness
to think about death,
but instead I fell asleep,
as if in a vast and sloping room
filled with those white flowers
that open all summer,
sticky and untidy,
in the warm fields.
When I woke
the morning light was just slipping
in front of the stars,
and I was covered
with blossoms.
I don’t know
how it happened—
I don’t know
if my body went diving down
under the sugary vines
in some sleep-sharpened affinity
with the depths, or whether
that green energy
rose like a wave
and curled over me, claiming me
in its husky arms.
I pushed them away, but I didn’t rise.
Never in my life had I felt so plush,
or so slippery,
or so resplendently empty.
Never in my life
had I felt myself so near
that porous line
where my own body was done with
and the roots and the stems and the flowers
begin.

--Mary Oliver

Canis Major

I love the Icelandic sagas. They are a collection of very plain stories about regular people, mostly farmers, making their lives, having their children, quarreling with the neighbors, etc. The drama is minimal in the sagas, centered mostly around disputes between neighbors who steal each other's livestock.

Longer than the descriptions of the crimes are the detailed stories about how justice is achieved. You could say that the Icelandic sagas are like the Law & Order of 1100 A.D. Once justice is attained, or whenever someone dies or is killed, as Snorri Sturluson, would say, "So-and-so is out of the saga." End of story.

The ancient Greeks were way more into drama. Their myths are screaming with intrigues, interpersonal subterfuges and plots and romance and betrayal. My, my! I think that's why their popularity has endured through all the centuries since they were written down. One of my favorite Greek mythic devices is the bit in which, after a hero dies or when the life of two great friends/lovers/enemies ends, the gods place these characters in the sky; i.e. they become constellations.

I've always wondered if the sagas are ordinary because Iceland itself is so dramatic - volcanoes, ice caps, midnight sun in summer and utter darkness in winter, a nine week growing season - while the Greek myths are uber drama-filled because Greece is a gentle landscape where it's easy to grow food and prosper - where there's more time to act out, in other words. This is a theory I mull over often, though I've not come up with any conclusions.

As for the myth cycle of Reya, well, every day I say to myself, Jake is now out of the saga. Maybe I could place him in the sky as a constellation, at least in a painting. Is that a good idea? What do you think?

This post is not about Jake.

A neighbor's son, totally dolled up (by his artistic mom) for the parade on the National Mall.

In DC, we seriously celebrate the fourth of July. Here on Tennessee Avenue, it's my favorite holiday of the year. The neighbors come over, we drink beer and laugh, exchange stories and relax. Sometimes we read the Declaration of Independence aloud, though we haven't done that for a few years. Have you ever read it? Whoa. Our founding fathers were mighty cheeky.

My specialite de la maison for the fourth is a carnal extravaganza: spice-rubbed spareribs, grilled for many hours over a very low fire, then doused with a tangy sauce right before serving. My roommate John makes his "gay coleslaw" (I think "gourmet" is a better adjective - but he's proud of his sexual identity, and proud of his coleslaw, so he should call it anything he wants.) Manuel bakes rhubarb/strawberry pies. It's our tradition, very very fun.

Though to be honest I'm not exactly looking forward to handling all that meat today, I am really glad that there will be a gathering, that we will feast and laugh and make merry. No doubt someone will lift a glass to toast the passing of my dog.

Oops. Wasn't going to write about him today.

May we all be liberated from the things that oppress us; our fears, our worries, guilt, bouts of the shoulds. May each of us muster the nerve to declare ourselves independent, may we find within ourselves the confidence to get out from under the thumb of whatever weighs us down. May freedom ring. Cheers!

Dawn

This is the front wheel cover of a beautiful gold Harley-Davidson.

For the first time since Jake got so ill in mid June, I slept last night, really slept all night long. I did not wake up between 3 and 5 a.m., didn't sob and toss and turn. I slept and dreamed long, complicated dreams, woke up refreshed. Wow, it's been awhile since I've experienced that plush sensation of being fully rested. It is only now dawning on me that I've been running on empty for weeks.

It occured to me this morning that life with me could not have been so great for Jake either. I did the best job I could do, but in truth, he was way too much dog for me. I wasn't strong enough or strict enough to be convincing as an alpha. He was riddled with fear and anxiety, and worse, fear aggression. I know that my partnership with him was one way of paying off a karmic debt long overdue. This morning I'm wondering if he, too, was paying off a karmic debt by living his life as an uber powerful, uber fearful rescue dog. We loved each other so much, but our life together was always a struggle.

Lots of people say that after a pet passes away, they can feel its energy around. They hear the clicking of the toenails on the floor, or the sighs or snoring. Many of the wonderful comments here have included wishes that he will stay by my side, even in death.

Whether it was all those candles burning all over the world for him, or all the beloved pets waiting to greet him on the other side, or that he was in fact really glad to have finally completed his karmic agreement - or something else - he is SO gone. I don't feel a trace of his energy anywhere around, not in the places where he slept or ate or hid when he was frightened. Maybe he'll come back to check on me at some point, who knows? For the time being, Jake has left the house, fully and absolutely.

My sadness has not left the house of my heart, though something has shifted. After last night's sleep, the grief is so much more gentle than it was during his last two or three weeks, way more gentle than it has been since Tuesday. It's just now dawning on me that I'm going to live through this. I am so grateful!

L'chaim, y'all. Peace.

Another Day Passes

On the National Mall, close to the American History museum.

Every time the phone rings, I'm sure it's the vet calling to ask when I'm going to come pick up my dog. That's the last place I saw him, after all. Yesterday after my marathon walk around the city, I found myself rushing home to get the dog "squared away" as I always said. That's a habit that will be hard to break. This morning when I woke up I stared hard at the place where Jake slept, as if staring hard enough would somehow materialize him. I am having the longing for the departed that's the central experience of grief. Forget anger, denial, bargaining and acceptance - all I feel is yearning, longing for my old old dog.

The good news is I saw the Sufi acupuncturist yesterday and as always he worked his magic on me. (He would say that Chinese medicine is NOT magic but it always feels that way to me.) After the treatment, he said he had managed to "stop the bleeding." And in fact I do feel closer to whole than I have since I made the decision to say goodbye to Jake. So that's good, isn't it? I think it is.

As I was walking around yesterday, it occured to me that some people probably thought the black arm band was my way of grieving for Michael Jackson, not that I really care what anyone thinks. It is kind of funny, though. Funny that from now on I will always link MJ's music with Jake's death. Funny weird and probably funny ha-ha, too.

You can't imagine how much I look forward to a good laugh, to feeling light and goofy again. I know it will happen, not yet though. Grief is horrible, it's really awful. It sucks.


Lafayette Park by the White House. The sun was coming and going from behind the clouds.

One step at a time

From this past Sunday morning.

Jake was more than a dog, he was a lifestyle. Last night was the first night I've ever slept in my room here in the house on Tennessee Avenue when he wasn't here. I've traveled, of course, but to be at home, in my own room, minus the snoring, the sighing and the sounds of Jake dreaming? Last night was my first experience of that.

This morning there was no reason to hurry through my shower, there was no one sitting by waiting for me to finish my meditation, and there was no reason to go walk around the block before having breakfast. It's so disorienting.

I am a creature of habit. Jake was my dog, friend, teacher and companion. And he was also my lifestyle, integral to my routines and habits. I feel sadder than I can explain, and confused, too, really confused.

One thing I decided to do is adopt the old custom of wearing a black arm band. I might just wear it today or maybe for a week or who knows? People used to wear them for a year after the death of a loved one; it was a part of grieving. I've seen pics of FDR wearing his arm band after his mother died. I love this custom; it's a gentle way of explaining you're in mourning, and so therefore perhaps a little bit out of it. There's no need to explain everything, over and over again. It's a kindness.

I am more than a little bit out of it, that's for sure. I've written myself a note that says:

Breathe.
Drink lots of water.
Don't do anything you don't have to do.

That's about all I can handle today. Maybe tomorrow will be different.

The amount of love and support that's been directed towards me (and to Jake, too) has blown my mind. I am literally in awe of how kind and generous people can be, how willingly all of you, and many people in my "real" life, have jumped in to help. I am so grateful, there's no way I can begin to explain it. From my whole heart I thank you. Thank you.

And now? Time to breathe, drink some water. Yep. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time. There is nothing else I can do. Onwards.