Requiem for a Jack Russell Terrier
When I got home from work yesterday, Lisa was in the kitchen cooking dinner. And crying. I hugged her and asked her what's wrong. She told me, "Mom had to put Tasha down." I thought, "Ah s...". Fill in the blank, if you must.
My mother-in-law Meki is a strong woman. Once though, she definitely wasn't. That was when Harry, her husband and love of her life, died. This was five years before I even met Lisa online through ABDK, 1995 I believe. The two things that really let Meki get back on her feet were the several months that Lisa moved in with her, and the year-old JRT her son Rusty brought her one day. Tasha.
I never knew the dog Lisa described to me, the short-legged little bundle of energy that could jump up onto the kitchen table and couldn't be held back from licking your face because she was so glad to see you. The one that would have held off a bear that threatened her people.
The dog I knew had a hard time jumping up onto an ottoman to sleep by your feet, was half blind from a cataract in her left eye, and was too often incontinent when her mistress left to go to work. The dog I knew was often scooped up from the floor by that same mistress, called very silly names, and kissed and kissed.
The dog I knew was the same one Lisa told me had been neglected, had been left chained up in a trailer park as a puppy, left for much larger dogs to terrify, and still trembled at every hand that reached down to pet her. Except for Meki's.
The dog I knew barked when she was hungry or thirsty, pranced across the hard wood floor to stand by the door when she needed to go out, and thrived on attention even as she trembled. There are some reactions time does not erase.
The dog I knew helped heal a woman I love and admire, and helped shape my wife into the woman she is today.
The dog I knew had a stroke that left her unable to move her hind legs, and according to the vet, in agony that there was a 50-to-1 chance would never end. So, Meki did the hard and compassionate thing, and held Tasha as she went to sleep for the last time.
I grew up on a farm, and I put down more than one badly injured animal. It was a fact of the life. I've not had to say good bye to a companion that was part of making me whole after the most devastating loss I can imagine. Meki did.
For now, please excuse me. In my mind, I hear claws clacking across a hard wood floor and Tasha's bark, telling me she has to go. I've got a door to open. Godspeed, little one.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Golden
Fifty years ago today, on Sunday, September 14, 1958, my dad worked the graveyard shift at Riegelwood Paper Company, went to church with my mom and her family, and after the service, Dad and Mom got married. There was a small reception at the church, but they skipped it to go to Myrtle Beach, where they stayed overnight. They returned home on Monday, because Dad had to go back to work.
Yesterday, we had a family gathering to celebrate Dad and Mom's golden anniversary. I got the planning going for this nearly a year ago, and after several iterations, we settled on simplicity. After all, my dad and mom are very private people who intensely despise any hint of limelight.
Friday night, Lisa and I picked up two of our three kids at the Raleigh-Durham airport. Andy, having just started his first semester at Purdue, elected to stay in West Lafayette. Gigi and David's flight from Chicago was scheduled to arrive at 10:08, and we planned to drive on to Mom and Dad's in Whiteville, two-and-a-half hours away, rather than drive an hour back to Greensboro. We wanted to let the kids spend as much time with Mom and Dad as possible, since they had to fly back today.
Well, Hurricane Ike intervened, and that 10:08 flight arrived at midnight. They didn't have any checked luggage, so we were out of the airport in very good order. We wanted a bite to eat and had seen a sign on I-40 for a Wendy's, but we got lost for a short while looking for that restaurant. Happily, once we got back to the interstate, we found another Wendy's at the next exit. So, a quick trip to the drive thru window, four sandwiches, four cups of water, an order of fries, and a frosty later, and we were back on the road.
We got to Dad and Mom's at 3:00 am yesterday morning.
Yesterday evening at 5:00, almost 20 of us met at Dale's Seafood at Lake Waccamaw -- unfortunately, the view was the parking lot rather than the lake, because they don't reserve the lake side -- and between us, my brother Ken and I treated our extended family to a nice seafood dinner. Then, we all went back to Mom and Dad's. Lisa, the kids, and I left the restaurant first, because we needed to put the punch together. I forgot the code to the alarm system, and I was sure the security company would call, I'd fail the challenge, and the party would be spoiled when everyone came downtown to stand my bail. Mom and Dad came to the rescue, by driving up and giving us the code.
We had our punch, a really nice cake that my sister-in-law Susan bought, and for the next couple of hours, Mom and Dad were the center of eating, conversation, and hundreds (if not thousands) of pictures (gotta love digital cameras). We had a few gifts for them, a Ruth's Chris Steakhouse gift certificate and tickets to a Le Grande Cirque performance. I would have done more for them, but in the same way that they dislike being the center of attention, they didn't want much in the way of gifts. It was a celebration for them, so I honored their request.
This morning, we had to leave earlier than I wanted to, but Gigi and David had a flight from Raleigh to Chicago scheduled to leave at 12:30 pm. We were on the road just before 8:45, and we were pulling into RDU just after 11:00. The departure board at the United ticketing area showed that their flight was on schedule. After we got the boarding passes and got Gigi and David to security, we checked the departure board again before settling down to wait until their flight was in the air. Their flight was now DELAYED. The Midwest was experiencing very heavy rains; this evening, several Chicago expressways are closed due to flooding. The flight didn't leave until about 2:45, and once they got to Chicago, the flooding interfered with their drive home. In fact, they didn't get home until almost 9:00 pm our time. My poor kids had a hectic travel weekend, but it was in a good cause.
Now, it's time for a short, maudlin note:
Mom and Dad,
Cogratulations on 50 years together. You inspire and challenge me to be as constant and attentive in my marriage as you are in yours, and I hope that I have been half as successful a parent as you have.
Your loving son,
Eddie
Sunday, September 14, 2008
RIP, Alton Matis
Here are the basic facts. He was born in June 1918 and died in October 2009, age 91. He lived his entire life in Newport, Arkansas, except for his time in the Army during World War II. He made his living as a farmer and service station owner. He was married to Liz for 62 years and survived her by a little over 6 years. He was the father of Mary, Dianne, Ronnie, and Kathy. He was a grandfather, great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather 37 times over. His oldest grandchild is my wife Lisa, and she misses her Papaw more than I can adequately convey.
Here's my own surreal moment concerning the man: I was 45 when I first met my grandfather-in-law at a family reunion in 2005.
During that visit, while we were watching a baseball game, Papaw asked us if we "could hear those birds chirping." He was adjusting the volume on his hearing aid at the time, and yes, we could hear "those birds".
A little later that evening, he encouraged Lisa and I to take his bedroom and "do what young people do." I refer you back to how many descendants the man has.
The rest of that visit, and a similar one in 2006, were full of the details of daily life, the kind of things that enrich a family without making for riveting reading for those outside the family.
Sadly, I didn't see him again in this life. I did get to hear many kind and admiring things said about him this week, from his fierce independence and self-reliance to his delight in holding his youngest grandchildren on his lap. I didn't know him nearly as well personally as I would have liked. I do, however, know quite a few members of his family very well, and I know Alton Mathis through them. My life has been deeply enriched through his, and I can only say, "I miss you too, Papaw."
Saturday, October 10, 2009
5/17: At The Bottom Of The Ramp, Waiting For My Daughter
Monday, May 17, sometime between 8:00 and 8:15 pm, I was standing next to a stage in the athletic center of Valparaiso University, holding a bouquet of roses. My daughter Gigi was in a line on the other side of the stage, waiting her turn to cross the stage, shake hands with the chancellor of Purdue University North Central, and receive her bachelor's degree.
I had time for memories, fleeting impressions:
- October 4th, 1988 - a shell-shocked afternoon, after the doctor told us that Suzanne's last non-stress test didn't look so good, and we needed to come in the next day to have labor induced.
- October 5th - a blur, from getting up, to arriving at the hospital, to the start of labor, to the maternity nurse being 7 months pregnant herself, to the doctor dealing with us and another patient in labor, to the arrival.
- October 6th - after a night in a cramped recliner, I went home to wash up and change. The fall sky and the turning leaves were more vibrant than I had ever seen before.
- Gigi, at two years old, running to me across a playground with her arms held high to be picked up and hollering, "Hold you!"
- Gigi, at seven, clinging to me and crying like she's never stopping after being told that her mom and I weren't going to be living together anymore (Nobody said all the memories were happy).
- My pride in Gigi as her participation in high school show choir gave her a world of confidence and made her bloom.
- Taking her, during a Christmas visit, to the empty parking lot at work and having her practice driving a car with a manual transmission.
< And then she was coming across the stage, holding her newly minted degree, stopping at the top of the ramp for a picture, then coming down the ramp, approaching me. I handed her the roses, we hugged, and she whispered, "Thanks, Dad, I love you."
As I walked back to the stands, my ex-wife gave me a thumbs up. My wife gave me a knowing smile, and she was entitled. I bought the flowers and gave them to Gigi, but they were Lisa's idea.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Privilege
It's rather earlier on Thanksgiving morning than I intended to be up. The cats are fed, the coffee is started, Bach's Brandenburg Concertos are playing, and I have the time before the bustling of the day -- yes, there will be bustling today, preparing the traditional Thanksgiving dinner and packing to travel -- begins to set down these musings.
I've spent a lot of time over the past year reading the thoughts of Internet sages on privilege, the unearned accumulation of advantage. This is nothing I set out to do. These various essays and rants were simply posted where I read anyway. No doubt this confession will affirm in some minds exactly the points about privilege. You see, I'm a 50 year old white male from the American South.
I've never had to remind anyone I was talking to that my eyes are on my face, not my chest. I've never seen employees anywhere I've shopped spending more time watching me to be sure I wasn't slipping merchandise into my pockets than waiting on the customers in front of them. I've never been turned away from voting. And what's more, I've never had to even think about these things.
Privilege.
If you're reading this and your primary assumption amounts to, "Well, it's about time he realized how lucky he is," may I suggest that you learn to recognize the blinders your high horse is wearing. You can learn from me as surely as I can from you.
I am incredibly grateful for the life I have, and even more, for the help I've had getting here. Yes, I have seized the opportunities that have come my way. Yes, I'd be stupid to pass up the advantages that life has afforded me, both for myself and my family.
And yet...
I am striving to live a life of of honesty and integrity. I can give up things so that others can have them and still get far more than I sacrificed. After all, life is hardly a zero-sum game.
On this Thanksgiving Day, I don't want to be treated the same as everyone else. I want everyone else to be treated the same as me.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Fall Susurrus
It's a very mundane task that sends me outside before the sun comes up, but the cats must be cleaned up after. I am facing south as I come off the porch. To my left, I can see the barest hint of dawn. Above me and to my right, the black of night remains, as do the stars.
To my left, just past the two fences that mark the end of my yard, there is an interstate highway. To my right, as well as in front of me and behind, are the homes and yards of my neighbors, and the street I live on. Above me, Orion the Hunter, Betelgeuse and Rigel on opposite corners.
To my left, the noise of man and his machines. To my right, the calls of birds and the hums and clicks of insects. Above me, silence, at least until the next plane takes off from the airport 10 miles away.
The early morning air has both the nip of colder air and softness of sun-warmed afternoon. It's a feeling that says Autumn.This moment has more to say. Summer has been here, winter is coming, but now we are poised...
And isn't that much of life, poised? For a choice, for an action? Transcendence, perhaps? It's a rather beautiful thought.
In the meantime, I have cat waste to dispose of, and cat food to give them that will be turned to waste in its turn. I have coffee to make, a wife to wake, a job to go to, and a memory of a poised moment to treasure.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
No comments:
Post a Comment