Facebook has been filled with pictures of our furry family members and condolences to those who have had to say goodbye.
Got me thinking about how people talk about the rainbow bridge our pets cross and how one day we’ll meet again.
I don’t know when that or started or who came up with it, certainly don’t remember it from being a kid but I can’t say I don’t like the idea.
There is something sweet in the idea that one day we’ll get to see them again.
Occasionally I have thought about it in concrete terms and wondered if all of the dogs I have known will magically know each other and consider each other family.
And how will I ever have the time to play with each of them, they’ll deserve so much attention and I won’t know where to focus.
Given this is magic it is not something I worry too hard about because it will just work.
Reminds me of being a child and hearing people talk about heaven being a place where we are reunited with our loved ones.
I always wondered how there could possibly be space for everyone, the house just wasn’t that big. When you are seven you think about these things and then figure if magic can be real it will all just work.
Reminds me that I never have understood how some people don’t understand that pets are family and the pain of loss is real.
The Ringwraiths Ride
Dog sat with me on the couch today and we listened to the rain pound the roof and I shared secrets with him.
“Remember what I tell you because one day you’ll cross that bridge too and you’ll be the messenger. You’ll help keep the others informed, but not for years, not for years right.”
He wagged his tail and I thanked him.
“You can be a pain-in-the-ass, but you’re worth it. It would be good if you learned how to do a few more things. Can you get me a beer?”
He wagged his tail and barked at me.
“Right, it is a workday and these are work hours, no drinking now. Thanks for keeping me straight.”
I told him I had ten more minutes to unwind from the trip to Wylie and that I would have to get back to it.
Looked out the window and saw something black fly across the street.
“Uh oh dog, the Ringwraiths are riding. Don’t think we’re in the Shire now and I am pretty sure I am not an elf. Go get me my sword and armor, might have to do battle today. If you can’t help stay out of my way.”
He wagged his tail, grabbed a toy and dared me to take it from him.
I chased him into the dining room and dove under the table after him.
“Watch out, Dad can still move and get carpet burn. Ouch.”
Work phone rang and I answered but didn’t explain why I was huffing and puffing.
“I read that thing you wrote. Had no idea you did anything like that.”
“How did you find it?”
“I Googled you. Was trying to find your email address.”
“Oh. Looks like you found it.”
“Have you been writing long?”
“That is a relative term, don’t know how to answer it.”
“How about in time?”
Been a storyteller for my entire life. Just something I do for fun. Every story has a beginning, middle and end. I am almost middle aged, so I guess this is the middle.”
The voice on the other end said they thought I was in my forties so I must already be middle aged. I took the conversation in a different direction.
Later I got an email asking how long I have been writing for. I didn’t answer it.
I don’t answer every concern or address all questions. Sometimes silence is intentional and sometimes it is just me giving people time.
An offhand remark reminded me of a big fight my oldest and I had a while back after my father died.
He told me about how angry I had been and how he thought I had been unfair about some things.
I remember telling him to tread carefully.
“Your mother yells far more quickly than I do but she gets over it far faster. If you push you will get the explosion and you may not like it.”
He pushed and he got the explosion. We screamed at each other and I wouldn’t be surprised if the echoes still exist.
Somewhere during the decade we refer to as 2020 he and I revisited that and I asked him to consider my position and my responsibilities.
“Do you know how many people I had to worry about. Do you know how many people I had to take care of. Can you imagine physically putting me in the car and taking me out. Can you imagine having conversations with me about my death and me setting limits for you on mourning and what you get to do?”
He looked at me and I saw a different sort of understanding roll in.
“You were pretty angry.”
“Sometimes I still am. I try not to be, no point to it. Won’t change anything. But there are moments. I am your Dad and I accept all the responsibilities that come with that.
Won’t lie and say there won’t moments I just wanted to be his son and nothing more. But that is not how life works.”
He looked and said “Grandpa wouldn’t have liked that.”
“Nope, you guys all come first. I did my best and that has to be enough.”
