My youngest and furriest child made an unscheduled visit to a vet in California and walked out with a shot, an x-ray and no guilt about an unplanned $400 bill.
Doc said something about arthritis and old age playing a role here or at least that is my understanding.
Apparently they think he might have hurt himself jumping and I nodded my head because I jumped off of a 10 foot wall and felt it for two days.
It pissed me off so I went and did it again to prove age hasn’t taken hold of me and damn if I didn’t need to take any ibuprofen afterwards so there is that.
But something about the timing of this weighs upon me, because we’re on top of the third anniversary of Dad’s death.
Three years ago I had just returned to Texas from a trip to LA not knowing that would be the last real visit with him, and even that is debatable.
He was still walking on his own, no assistance needed when I went out in late February or March.
That was the time I heard him calling for help. I hustled to the bathroom and found him standing in the shower holding the handle.
“Get me a Phillips from the garage so I can fix this.”
“And ruin this view of a naked 70 something year-old, don’t tease me.”
He rolled his eyes, I got the screwdriver and he fixed the shower.
“Get out of here so I can have some privacy.”
I laughed, took the screwdriver and walked away. That seemed like such a good sign to me, he was going to handle this cancer thing, at least for a while.
SQ was the first of several people to tell me about the blur that comes with that time, how memories come back later.
They do and they have, even now there are fragments of memories that wash ashore without invitation or notice.
Something about the dog alongside the time of year opened the floodgates.
Instead of running away I am running to it, trying to get as close as possible because if I carry that weight it might get easier.
There is a certain temptation to empty a bottle or two and to stand under a starry night and get lost in places most never ente
I remember standing at the Kotel, one of hundreds chanting prayers, hearing Mechayeh ha–metim come from my lips.
For those who are unfamiliar it is the place in the service where we speak about G-d bringing the dead back to life.
I am no more or less certain of that happening than I was as that 16 year-old kid.
Logic and science say there is no reason to believe such a thing will happen so I don’t expect it to happen.
During that last period of time Dad and I agreed there were no expectations to see each other again but also agreed it would be ok if we were surprised.
That is still fine with me. Why wouldn’t I be pleased with such a surprise.
Someone once told me they thought that was silly and I laughed.
“If there is no afterlife it doesn’t matter because we are all dead and I won’t know that nothing happened. If there is something and it is anything close to the hopes and dreams of people it will be a pleasant surprise.
There is no downside to my position.”
They responded with “You either believe or you don’t.”
I told them that I don’t wear a sweater because someone else is cold, never have and never will.
Mechayeh ha–metim, I hear the thunder of the voices of the men around me coming from the echoes of the past and wonder what it would feel like now.
It is not a question of what it feels like here in the US. Probably been in shuls in 30 some odd states, but Jerusalem is different.
Would a fifty something year-old man feel differently? Would the magic of the Holy land find it’s way in?
Maybe.
There are things that have happened that have made me cock my head to the side and get lost in evaluating how something impossible happened.
Hell, even SQ knows there are a few things that could happen and lead to a long review of what is, what isn’t and what could be solely because of what came.
So I mutter mechayeh ha–metim not expecting anything to come from but because sometimes you have to carry the weight to feel all that you must.
It is how you get from here to there and gain a view of it all from a different perspective.
