From time to time...
I have an ax to grind, or some memory pops in my head and sticks, or some issue ricochets around my brain and the only way to get it out is to write it down. Each month, or whenever the muse strikes me, I'll post an essay or article. Some will have been published already, some will be new works yet to be published. Many are highly charged political and social issues.
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THE COST OF LOVE
My mother was crying when I walked into the kitchen around sunset, her hips sunk into the linoleum countertop, she was slouched against the handle of the fridge door holding onto to it as if to hold her up. I looked over at my father who was sitting in his usual place at the head of the kitchen table. He had his stoic face on but it looked like he.d been crying. My sister was sitting across from him. She too was crying.
"What.s going on?" I was afraid of the answer, hoping it had something to do with my 89 year old grandmother since anything else was sure to be very bad.
"My Pepper dog is dead." My mother spoke without looking at me.
No. That can't be. She wasn't sick. When I left for the beach that morning she was fine. "Are you kidding?" I don't know why I asked that. It was clear she wasn't kidding. Everyone stared at me with their jaw somewhat dropped but they didn't say anything. "What happened?" It just seemed so implausible- not after 12 years and to date the dog had never been sick.
"We think she got bit by a rabid squirrel." My dad tried to keep his tone even but I caught the quiver. "Mom found her in the backyard in the bushes. She must have been there several hours." Then I saw the tears cascade down my father.s cheeks, second only to the time when JFK was shot. That's when I ran out of the house. And kept running.
No! This can't be happening. Not Pepper. Not my beautiful golden Shepard. Not my best friend through all these years of growing up. I should have taken her to the beach. I should have been there for her like she'd always been for me.
I ran for several miles, chain smoking, lighting each cigarette off the butt of the last as I ran. I must have smoked at least 10 by the time I got to the bridge and started throwing up over the side into the L.A. wash. When I finished I leaned my face against the cool metal rail and started to cry. "I HATE YOU!!" I screamed to the heavens. It was dusk by then. No one was around. Not a whole lot of people even knew about that bridge. It was at the end of an upscale residential neighborhood on one side; on the other were exclusive condos. "How could you take her away from me?! I HATE YOU!" I yelled at the top of my lungs through my tears. I knew I wasn't speaking to anyone. I don't believe in God. I guess what I meant was "I hate me." Right at that moment the loss hurt so badly that I hated myself for loving her.
"May I help you Miss?" he asked softly but it startled me anyway. I hadn't seen him approach. He had come across from the condo side. He was Indian, from India, with the softest brown eyes I'd ever seen. I think he thought I was going to jump off the bridge.
"My dog died," I told him. I started crying hard again as that reality sunk into my heart. I don't know why I told him. So often when people ask we're supposed to pretend we're fine because they really don't want to know anyway. "I really loved her."
He nodded, let a few moments pass in silence then said, "My aunt died last week. I am still very sad. I miss her very much." He stood erect a few feet from me, his head slightly cocked to one side. He let his eyes rest on mine for only a moment then he looked down, consumed by the black hole of loss.
"I'm sorry about your aunt," was all I could think of to say. The man had put his aunt on par with my dog and I was humbled, and grateful.
"I.m sorry about your dog," he said. "I hope your sadness will temper in time with good memories." He gave a slight bow and moved across the bridge.
I left the bridge well after dark that night. On my way home I let my mind wander over my time with my Pepper dog. I cried, I even smiled once or twice though the tears. My sadness has tempered over the years. Most times when I think of her the memories are sweet. But all these years later, I still feel the pain from losing her. And to this day, what resonates the most from that first loss is the enormous cost of love.
For additional essays, click on the links below.
Technology and Choice
Sometimes, there are no good choices.
Power of Love
Parental love knows no bounds.
Raising Trouble
Watch out! Beautiful babies grow up to be teens.
Don't Press Send
Disputes handled through email can lead to complications.
Why Do You Write?
For writers, on writing.
The Future Out Of Time
Paranormal experience of seeing the future.
Between What Is Said and What Is Heard
When to tell your children the truth, and when not to.
Chemically Sane
On manic depression and the effects of the drugs that treat it.
Losing It
On aging and dementia.
United We Stand
Atheism in America.
Intuition
What it is, and how to use it.
The Problem With Parents
Illuminates how failure to discipline children results in kids that are out of control.
