One Rich Life
Amaryllis,
© Joan Z. Rough
“This is my living faith, an active faith, a faith of verbs: to question, explore, experiment, experience, walk, run, dance, play, eat, love, learn, dare, taste, touch, smell, listen, speak, write, read, draw, provoke, emote, scream, sin, repent, cry, kneel, pray, bow, rise, stand, look, laugh, cajole, create, confront, confound, walk back, walk forward, circle, hide, and seek.”
Grandlings, Zoe and Noah on the Downtown Mall.
I’ve been running into those words often for a couple of days now as I try to get myself back into my daily routine and at work on my memoir. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks in which the routine, the writing, exercise, and getting enough sleep have taken a backseat to other things.
The loss of Brody took a number of days before the waves of grief that overtook me became fewer. During that time I mostly sat and cried, unable concentrate on the simplest of daily activities.
Five days later the annual Virginia Festival of Book started here in Charlottesville, and with it came a visit from a friend whom I’d never before met in person, but with who I knew I had much in common. We’d emailed and made comments back and forth on each other’s blogs and even talked on the phone once. Shirley Showalter of 100 Memoirs was someone I’d stumbled upon on the Internet and it turns out she lives only about two hours away. Her book, Blush, will be in print and on bookstore shelves sometime in the fall. She’d been planning to visit the Festival of the Book and I invited her to stay with me here in my home.
What a wonderful time it was. We went to a few of the festival sessions together and spent hours talking and reading to each other from our memoirs. Way ahead of me on the writing and the publishing angles, she is an inspiration and I know that if she lived any closer I’d often be on her doorstep asking unending questions. When Shirley returned home l was filled with excitement, new ideas and directions for my writing as well as pinpointing publishing options.
For a few days I struggled with catching up on all that I had let slide for a week. The daily rounds of laundry, preparing food for the upcoming Easter weekend and visit from my daughter’s family took up most of my time. Not to be forgotten was taking time to play with our new adoptee, Max, who snuggled his way into our bed and hearts, easing the sadness of Brody’s untimely death. There was little time for writing, except for capturing notes as I remembered things I would change in my memoir, made lists of new books to read, and emailed a few new contacts. I also just needed to sit with myself to bring the roar of excitement to a lower level in which I could think more clearly, keeping myself from being overwhelmed by all that I wasn’t getting done.
Easter weekend was a blast with my Grandlings (read grandchildren) staying with us, sleeping in our basement, “Harry Potter” room, which looks somewhat like a set from the movie. We gifted Lisa and Deena with a stay in a nearby hotel so that they could have a few evenings without the kids. We spent lots of time walking and laughing and on Saturday helped to surprise Mark’s stepdaughter Casey on her 25th birthday with a lovely party. It was the first time in a number of years in which my kids were all here together. We joyfully spent our time celebrating each other. As I grow older occasions like this past weekend become more and more important to me.
Casey blowing out her candles.
We’re all back in the daily grind now, and I can’t help but feel a bit let down. I’ve not felt like writing and last night caught myself thinking that maybe this memoir I’m working on is a waste of time.
I’ve so enjoyed the distractions of friends, parties, great food, laughter and being with my kids, that returning to the serious work of reliving the past and moving through it to healing, seems more painful than usual. The sunshine and the bursting forth of new life is stealing my attention and my need to get my hands into the earth is growing. Words flow onto the page with difficulty and I struggle to make myself sit down and dive back into what was. Time marches on and there are so many things I still want to do.
But I am returning to my work, knowing that it is something I must do, even when it doesn’t feel good. I’ve moved my September 1st deadline for a finished first draft to November 1st, and plan on giving myself a few breaks along the way. We’ re making plans to kidnap Zoe and Noah for a week this summer when we’ll ride the train up to Washington and take in the museums. We’ll also go swimming, read books together, see a silly movie or two and just be with each other.
In the meantime, I’ll not give up working on my story. I love the writing, even when I hate it. I’m growing way beyond the trauma that once made me hide from life. The secret is to integrate the past and the present, stay out in the sunlight, breathe deeply, and enjoy every single moment that comes my way. Time will do as it will.
“Never give up on a dream just because of the time it will take to accomplish it. The time will pass anyway.” Earl Nightingale
I can’t help myself. Today is the day I usually post a quote that inspires me. But we’ve a new member of the family and just can’t wait to introduce him to you. If you haven’t read this blog before you need to know that I love dogs. There are many posts to check out here if you do, too.
Just over a week ago we lost our dog, Brody, to pneumonia. My family, the people who took such good care of him at day care every Thursday, and Brody’s veterinarian team were all devastated. He had lived with us for only six weeks and I could not understand how I would be able to go on without filling the enormous hole he left in my heart.
My very kind and sensitive dog trainer friend, Karen, sent me a picture of a picture of Max and so began the task of my beginning to come to terms with what I now understand to be part of my job description in this life. I was an abused child. I find it comforting and necessary to take in small abused and abandoned dogs. That does not mean that I stop grieving for all of those gentle souls who have shared their time with me. There will always be cracks and crevices in my heart through which sorrow and tears will seep when I think of them.
This new little guy in named Max and he came to live with us this past Sunday. He weighs in at about thirteen pounds and is mostly, if not all, a Shih Tzu. He lived with a single mom and her two kids. One day she decided she’d had enough and packed up the kids and the dog and dropped them off at her mother’s house. He was turned into a shelter because the kid’s grandmother couldn’t take care of the children and the dog, too.
Max hadn’t been clipped for a good long time and was covered with mats and infested with fleas. The caring folks at the Louisa Humane Society, took him from the shelter. They had him shaved down to his skin and put him in a foster home until he could be adopted out. His foster parents took great care of him and were kind and generous to be able to give him up. I would not have been able to.
He is a sweetheart of a dog. Gentle, quiet, and he loves to cuddle more than anything else. He and Sam are beginning to make friends and Lily, who tried to avoid him altogether, has finally given in. Just this morning I found her rubbing up against Max, the way cats do to mark their belongings and territory.
Yesterday, Max passed his test at doggie day care with flying colors. I took him in for a brief visit where he was introduced to a number of other dogs to make sure he won’t cause trouble in the big day care pack. Tomorrow will find him there, mostly following big brother, Sam, around and figuring out the ins and outs of day care.
He’s been sleeping at night in a crate since he’s been here, but at 5:30 this morning he woke me, asking to be let outside. When he returned instead of going back into the crate, he jumped up on the bed and curled up next to me under the covers. Uh-0h! I wonder where he’ll want to sleep tonight. Although I prefer that he sleep in the crate, (Sleeping with dogs in the summer time can get overly warm.) he just might get the best of me.
Brody and big brother, Sam.
A week ago this past Friday, Brody died of pneumonia. He apparently had it for the entire six weeks that he blessed this household with his big heart and huge personality.
He lived every moment of his life with gusto. When he was afraid, he turned snarly. He thought he was the biggest dog in the world and if he didn’t like you, he tried to make you as afraid of him, as he was of you.
When he slept, he slept deeply. He loved lying on his back in my lap and have his tummy rubbed. His head would drop toward the floor, his eyes would roll back into his head, and he’d snore a little.
He ate like it was going out of style, afraid that someone might steal his treasure, but there was no food aggression. He never tried to get Sam’s food away from him and never seemed to be jealous that Sam was getting more attention than he was.
He played the way he did everything else, emptying a large basket filled with toys in minutes, seeking out the noisiest squeakers he could find. He’d roll on his back, flipping his chosen plaything up in the air, catching it in his mouth and between his paws. The living room floor was always a maze of stuff that Brody brought out to play, and if I picked it all up and put it back in the basket, he’d immediately begin emptying the basket over again.
He was always happy to see me, running at full speed through the door and into my lap just the night before he died, after Bill had picked him up from “Doggy Daycare.”
He loved with every cell of his body, consuming those he loved with his deep, dark eyes and his smile. Mornings, I’d lean out of bed, open his crate, and he’d jump up on the bed, waking me with his kisses. He loved Miss Lily, the cat, with as much love as he had for Bill and I, and simply adored his big brother, Sam.
Except for some coughing and sneezing that became nonstop the night before he died, he never showed signs of being sick. He ate well, played well, lived well. He had been examined by at least three veterinarians and they never picked up that his lungs were filled with fluid. His presence and his passing have served to remind me of how all of us must live … with gusto … with love … taking nothing for granted.
We all miss you, Sweet Brody, but we know you’re up in heaven somewhere, amongst the other angels, Molly, Charlie, Peppermint, Hannah, and Cleo, who blessed our lives before you. We’re taking your cue to live well and will soon be welcoming another little doggy soul into the place you kept warm for him.
Brody, taking a nap.
“ When it’s time to suffer, you should suffer; when it’s time to cry, you should cry. Cry completely. Cry until there are no more tears and then recognize in your exhaustion that you’re alive. The sun still rises and sets. The seasons come and go. Absolutely nothing remains the same and that includes suffering. When the suffering ends wisdom begins to raise the right questions.”
Seido Ray Ronci, The Examined Life
I subscribe to Tricycle Magazine’s, Daily Dharma. Every morning a new quote is sent my way and most of the time I’m very taken with what it has to say. I often take a quote into the day with me as a mantra, a way of dealing with what unfolds as the sun moves across the sky and evening descends.
There have been many times in my life when I could have used this quote to help me through a particularly painful bump in the road when I wouldn’t allow myself to cry … or scream, or even laugh.
I can remember times when I cried myself to sleep. When there was absolutely nothing left inside of me that could produce another tear. When I woke it felt like I had been lifted out of the fog. Things looked brighter. I may still have been feeling sad or hurt, but there was always a new energy available that helped me get up on my feet and move forward.
There have also been times when I wouldn’t allow myself cry, or scream. I walked through my days as if in a trance, retelling myself the story of what had brought me to this point, unable to put it aside in its own place. There was no relief from the darkness. Unlit days melted into the night without the benefit of wisdom. Sometimes it took hours or days to find the glow in the distance of time. Sometimes it took months or even years before I allowed the sun to burn it’s way into my life.
I love this quote because you can take it a few steps further and say that when it’s time to laugh, you should laugh yourself silly … pee your pants … snort and guffaw … and spread the joy. It’s about the here and now. This very moment. The only one we have
Whether you need to cry, laugh, scream, dance or roar like a lion, do it with all of your heart and soul. Use it. You will be the better for it and wisdom will be yours.
When was the last time you cried your eyes dry or had a fit of laughter that left you feeling on top of the world?
