Kind of Blue

For the last few weeks I've been near the breaking point. Many times I've considered blogging but then reconsidered since it didn't seem prudent to put my real thoughts out there for the world to read. I couldn't come up with anything nice to say so I chose to say nothing. It feels somewhat dishonest to share only the easy stuff but then again, a public forum is so easily misunderstood and misused.

This past weekend Stan and I were able to get away - without any of the kids. [insert big sigh here.] We didn't go far, just over an hour away from home, but there was a pool and a hot tub so it felt like a million miles away from all my cares. We ate fabulous dinners, drank good wine, listened to live jazz. I swam in the pool and soaked in the hot tub. I read a fabulous book - The Man Who Was Thursday - in one day. I even did some of that reading while in the hot tub. It was a GOOD weekend.

In addition to the relaxation, I also found some clarity while away. With time to think and pressure lifted, I was able to get some perspective on all the drama and angst I've been experiencing. Armed with new insight I made an appointment to see a counselor. This man has been a huge help to both Stan and I over the years and his wisdom is precious to me. After sitting with him for an hour I feel more calm, and centered. The nasty voices in my head have been put into perspective. I also got a homework assignment - I've been commissioned to write a blues song. My guitar teacher recently taught me the 12 bar blues so I've got some wailing to do.

I'm grateful for vacation, for wise council, for artistic expression, and for a husband who doesn't think I'm a wacko. There are a lot of things going right right now - how on earth am I supposed to sing the blues?

Good Boy

Puddin' has recently learned to say "good boy" to our dog, Zero. If Stan or I call Zero, Puddin' will call out too and then say "good boy" a few times. Sometimes she'll say it spontaneously, as if that were his name.

Zero is an old dog. He's about 15 years old, arthritic, nearly blind and deaf - but still happy and a joy to be around. Just about a week ago Zero took a significant turn for the worse. Suddenly he was vomiting and shaking. He grew more lethargic every day. He stopped eating and drinking. After a handful of tests the vets were able to tell us that Zero's liver was not functioning and that his gall bladder was seriously diseased. Very expensive surgery could fix it but would only be able to buy him a few more years regardless. Stan and I decided the most humane choice would be to put Zero to sleep.

We told Monkey & Peanut on Tuesday morning that we were taking Zero to the vet, and that the vet would help him die a painless & dignified death. At first they seemed to search for ways to prolong time with him or fix the problem but through their questions they were able to understand what was happening and why. They showed such grace and maturity. All five of us posed for one last picture with our beloved dog. Through their tears they each went off to deal with it in their own way. Monkey drew a picture for Zero and Peanut wrote him a letter. They asked that we take their offerings with us to the vet so that Zero would have something to remember them by.

"I love Zero and he is gowing to hevin. I'll miss him and he is the best dog ever. I have lots of amoshins today. I'm not redy for Zero to diy yet."

Monkey & Peanut were with their mom last night so they haven't experience the house without Zero yet. For the rest of us, there have been plenty of sad reminders. I keep listening for his nails clicking on the hardwood floor, or looking for him to clean up some food Puddin' dropped. When I'm out I think about rushing home to let him out of the basement. Stan, who has known Zero longer than any of us, doesn't have that wagging tail to greet him when he comes home, and doesn't have quiet company first thing in the morning before the rest of us get us. Puddin' is still looking for Zero. She'll look in the places where he often slept and say his name, or sometimes "good boy." Even Tsunami, our cranky cat, is showing signs of missing her friend. She'll occasionally let out a plaintive meow and she's taken to sleeping in some of Zero's old spots.

I'm sure Monkey & Peanut will find their own reminders of our sweet puppy and little memories that sting. I wish there was something I could do to shield them from it; I hate for their lives to be sullied by the pain of losing a good pet. On the other hand, I'm astounded by their capacity to take something like this in and cope with it. It's good to see them dealing with rough emotions in a healthy way. At least there is that silver lining.

We're going to miss you, Zero. You were such a faithful companion for each of us. It was a privilege to have you in our home and we're all grateful to God for giving us that sweet little embodiment of grace and love.