For Thor - 37 - Spring Puppy Comfort Love

Good morning, Thor. I miss you today and every day. All the changes that are happening around here would make you so happy to see. I would give anything to be able to share them with you over a cup of coffee on the patio. Or better, with cigars under the periwinkle twilight sky.

Spring Equinox

The first day of Spring came on Sunday. It was a rainy and chilly day after a week of mid-70's, with a freeze warning for early flower and fruit blossoms. Bumpy weather patterns are a good match for my emotional and mental state these days. Winter releases its grip on our world, somewhat reluctantly, and I'm torn between my longing to stay close to the rawness of your passing and learning to live in a world that you no longer occupy.  In the first few weeks after you died, the turning of the seasons was a distant mark on the horizon; Spring Equinox seemed a lifetime away. From that vantage point, it marked a chunk of time that would pass, which if survived, I would take stock of where I am and how I might re-enter the world.  A soft deadline. Ha. Nothing soft about it.

A new season dawned. Another milestone has come and gone -- without you here. I am still a broken vessel, the cracks wide open and glaring.

Time is both my healer and my tormentor. It passes without pause, without a break, without a hint of giving a shit about what happened to you, to me, to all of us. And yet, it is the force that will not stop, continuously flowing toward the promise of hope and healing. Time heals all wounds, they say. There is a lot left unsaid in that little platitude; like the importance of how one thinks and what one does during that time that can have a big impact on the quality and measure of healing. Time, by itself, is simply the implacable river that pushes me through each minute, day, hour, and milestone. How I fill them is up to me to and to sorrow, whose lead I am following on this crazy ride. Will I have years of time filled with anger and resentment over your death? Will I fill my days with lamentation to God, demanding "Why?!" and wanting to see the freaking receipt for this transaction; surely he cheated me? In these moments, I feel short-changed. Will I spend many minutes and days trying to remember all the carelessly experienced moments with you that I did not fully commit to memory? Will I set my eyes on the horizon to where I know dawn will break - a new dawn that will illumine this blasted landscape in the soft, pink light of hope? Will I look around me to your Dad and brothers and see that we are still here --we are a family with a big hole blasted out of the middle-- and we must learn to carry on. Every minute that passes pulls me further away from you, you that was here in the flesh as my bright and beautiful son. And so, time is both healer and tormentor, it just depends on what I am thinking in each moment. 

Bowling

As the Equinox approached, I knew we needed a plan to get out and do something fun, build new memories, tell some jokes, and interact with the world as a group. We are still learning how to walk with a missing limb, Thor. It's not easy, but we are finding our way. 

We decided to hit the bowling lanes. I dug down deep to find the resolve I needed to affect a carefree, fun and silly attitude.  Your brothers need to see me smile, from my heart and through my eyes. I cheered and danced as we tried to remember the motions of throwing a ball down a lane - hilarious! There were some gutter balls (ouch!) and some strikes (Yay!), sometimes we were successful in picking up the spare (Niiiice!), and sometimes we left an open frame (Oh, well, there's always cheese fries!).  The physical challenge of bowling was more than I expected, and after just two games, I was done. But it was fun. Grief takes its toll on stamina, so I am mindful of these new physical limits.

Lady

We have been looking for a mini schnauzer since last fall when we fell in love with little Max - you know Dave and Kristen's sweet little dog. In all the madness since December 31, I hadn't resumed my search until about mid-February. I knew I needed the cuddly love snuggles of a little fluffy pup. The unconditional love and intuitive, deep empathy of dogs are perfect for grief.  Dogs get it and can just BE there with you while you cry. They lick your tears and are steadfast in their attentive care to make sure you are okay. And then you have to get out and take them for a walk!

Finding a mini-schnauzer puppy or even getting one of the breeders to call me back has been next to impossible. So, when I heard about a woman who has schnauzers a little over an hour from home, I was thrilled. I gave her a call, and we chatted about Lady, a two-year-old female that needed to find a new forever home. Big changes were facing Lady's human family, Sandy's husband's cancer is returned, so they need to sell the farm and the livestock and find new loving homes for some of the pets. As Sandy spoke, I wasn't sure if I wanted to get a grown dog. I had it in my head that I wanted a puppy. I told Sandy I would think about it and would call her back. 

I realized pretty quickly that I wanted to meet Lady to see if we were a good fit. Did I need to deal with housebreaking a dog? Did I need to hassle with vet visits and all when I am barely keeping myself together? I called Sandy and arranged to meet Lady on Sunday after we had finished bowling.  We followed Sandy out to the farm where we met Mark and all their schnauzers - Lady's brother and her mom and dad. We fell in love with all of them, but little Lady seemed to know she was destined to come with us. She loved up on Xan and Dad, and when she finally came to sit with me, she jumped into my arms and was content to stay right there.

Lady came home with us on the first day of Spring after a long search for a puppy that had netted zero responses from breeders I had contacted in five states. It appears that we were supposed to find each other at precisely the right time for us both. She came to us with death as a universal connector; me in mourning for you in desperate need of a sweet pup to kiss my tears away, and Sandy and Mark, who are preparing for Mark's passing sometime soon.

I soon learned that I was right about needing Lady. On Monday evening, Dad came home with some guys who are clearing some land for us (another change!). He finished talking to them and asked me to come out and help him mark the trees we want to keep.  It was exciting to think about the flood of sunlight, the night sky and open space that would soon be ours. Dragon's Glen was going to have finally, well, a glen! At that moment, I felt fine, maybe even good. Then Dad had to hook up the camper to move it out of the way of the logging machinery.

Camper

The camper is your little home. We bought it so you would have a place to come back to that was your own and didn't force you to sleep in a room with your brothers. We bought it so you would have some autonomy and still be home. We bought it so you didn't feel pressured to find somewhere to live that wasn't right or didn't suit or put pressure on a young love relationship. I remember when we decided to buy a camper that you could use…

I was standing in the shower and started crying at the idea of you needing a place to live that would suit a young man who is too big to be home and too young to be entirely independent. I told your dad that I thought a camper would be the perfect solution since we could still use it once you found or bought your own place. 

I am so grateful to have made that decision. We got the camper in early December. We had a few short, but beautiful, weeks with you here living in your little pad out in the driveway. It made my heart sing to hear your truck rev up in the morning as you left for work. I hated the nights you didn't come home and stayed with friends. I cooked supper and was so happy that you were home to eat with us. You, Xan and dad played guitars along with Chaz on bass. We bought you a little Christmas tree and some lights for the camper so it would be festive and fun in there for you. 

Since you died, we've slowly closed it up.  First, all your clothes, bedding, and belongings came out. Then all the little things like the coffee pot, space heater, and whatnot were removed. A couple of weeks ago, Dad put up the stairs and slid the small deck underneath.

So, when Dad hooked the truck to the camper, and it moved I shook my head NO! and tears fell just like in those first, worst weeks. Moving your little home away from its spot struck me with the Mac Truck of realization, all over again, that you are not coming home. Ever. How, oh how can this be?  I cried on Dad's shoulder for a moment and came to the house, heartsick and shaken. The devastation of your death was refreshed on my heart in this one simple act.

Comfort

Lady insistently pawed at me to sit with her. Her sweet, soulful little face urged me to pick her up and nuzzle her soft ears. So I did, and the tears came for a good long while. Our little Ladybug knows how to sit in grief and how to make sure I do, too. She seems to understand the balance of letting me be in sorrow and when it's time to get up and go for a walk.  It's perfect; she offers empathy without wallowing. And on top of that, she curls up on my lap, a warm ball of love, sunshine and comfort. What a blessing to have her here for me when I just need to cry and I don't have to be alone, or talk about it - most of what I am feeling has no words.

Oh, Thor! You would adore Lady, and she would love you! She would melt your heart like she has mine. I can hear you saying "Oh my goodness, what's this? Come here little sweetie!" And then you two would be napping on the couch before I knew it - and you would totally try to convince me that she needed to be in the camper with you.

Spring is here, and changes are in the air. The season of awakening, renewal and growth is working on me in many new ways. I find that hope resides in the deepest parts of this broken heart. I am planting seeds of intention to live mindfully, in love and expanded awareness in my heart. Change is all there is in this world. If I need refuge from this fact, I need only sink beneath the surface of the waves to remember we are all the water. There I can find you - and Peace. It's a funny kind of dual vision, but it's good enough for now; for this moment in the river of time.

Okay, boyo, time to take Lady for a walk!

I love you,

Mom