Just a Dog

They creep up on me every so often. I think I'm doing okay, that it's getting easier with time but then I find myself unable to finish a sentence. I get choked up at the most unexpected times. Grief is a strange phenomenon. Those damn tears.

I can have a house full of people and all of a sudden I am in them again. I can be driving to school and feel my eyes watering. The other morning they hit me five minutes before my first class began. It's embarrassing at times. I should be toughening up by now. I find myself wanting to say what others might think if they saw my distress, "Honestly, she was just a dog".

It's been three months since losing Charlie. The toughest part is when I come home and imagine I need to put her out. Or when I wake up to my alarm and think to avoid stepping on her as I go to the shower. Today I took cans of food out of the pantry, food I had purchased in her final few days thinking it might be more preferable to her. It wasn't. I also put the last of her treats into a container and grabbed her medication too. I then went to get her dry food from the laundry room where I always keep it. I started to think of how in the last two years I'd always thought twice about the size of dog chow that I'd purchase. In the back of my mind I'd think, "Is she going to be around long enough to finish this big bag?" And as if tempting fate, I'd buy the biggest bag. Today when I went to retrieve the bag, I realized for the first time that there was less than a cup of dry food left in the bag. No more than that. I found myself laughing to myself for "getting it just right", and then I started to sob. Again.

But that's the thing. She wasn't just a dog. She represented so much more. She followed me from the age of 26 to almost 43. She watched my babies grow. She guarded this home and warned me not to trust a few unsavory characters who came by. She was the most loyal and the truest companion. She loved me unconditionally. And that is incredibly hard to let go of. On my toughest days, she'd be there for me. There have been way too many tough days recently.

I find myself needing her attention, her devotion, her love. I miss her terribly. I know that she couldn't be around forever and that I was incredibly lucky to have her for as long as I did, but as much as I thought I had prepared myself for her death, I still find myself in disbelief that she's gone.

On May 20th she would have been 17 years old. I've thought of her often and I've told myself that it is time. It is time to get this family and myself a new puppy. For weeks I have gravitated toward dogs I see on the streets and in cars going by. I take in every dog commercial and video that I see. My children and I discuss which breeds we think are the cutest. We have started brainstorming names. Oh, I am more than ready. In her final weeks, I talked a lot to my girl. I told her I knew I had her permission to get a new pup quickly. Charlie knows I'll cry more tears. I'll remember her own first few days with us, her own puppyhood, and the grief will continue to ebb and flow. But I'll also cry tears of relief, because for me, even though I realize it will never quite be the same without my Charlie girl, it is never quite a home without a dog.

A Change of Scenery

I am getting pretty good at driving the road to my daughter's college and back. Having made the trip numerous times this year to catch her dance and theater performances, or to bring her home for vacations, I find myself almost on "automatic pilot" as I travel there and back. It's not the most exciting stretch of highway, but the trip isn't bad. If you were to pass my van you'd see me rocking out, singing at the top of my lungs on the way there. On the way back home, the time passes quickly as I listen to her stories.

It's actually been nice to have the excuse to run the roads this past year. Being on the road, traveling from one town to the next, even if it's on the highway, gets me out of the routine of traveling only from home to work on back roads that I've been traveling for nearly 20 years. I admit, there are days when I am tempted to take an alternative route and to run away for the day. "I needed a change of scenery", I could simply say when my boss asks me why I was not at work. Oh yes, I'm sure he'd understand.

A former colleague of mine who left the profession 13 years ago suggested to me then that I needed to take a chance and get out of my own rut. He was suggesting that I join him and leave teaching to try something different. When he ran into me a few years ago and realized I was still teaching, he was quick to frown a bit before catching himself. I think he really wanted to hear that I'd moved on to doing something else. Maybe he needed me to say that I had. Maybe it would have validated his own decision to leave? I don't know. But in either case, I do think of his words to me every once in awhile. I ask myself, "Am I in a rut?" and "What exactly does that mean to me anyhow?"

Sure, I have fantasies of running away--for a day, for a week, for a month, or longer. I am tempted to make an unexpected and maybe even irresponsible turn to see just where life might take me if I abandon what I have and where I am now. But I also know myself. When I don't know where I'm going, I end up in some pretty scary places. I get lost pretty easily. And one of my biggest fears is getting lost and not having anyone there to lead me back to the places and to the people that I love.

A change of scenery is good for the soul. Maybe I am in a rut. Maybe I need to take more chances. Do something different. Take a leap of faith. But as I mull this over I'll make sure that my GPS secures my home address. Because there is nothing here that I can live without.

Confidence and Clarity

Mr. Elliot Burton. He was my fifth grade teacher and he did something incredible for me all those years ago. With the simple use of a shoe box, Mr. Burton introduced "the problem box". He asked us all to submit particular problems we saw or were having and he said that each day the class would brainstorm solutions. The day he addressed my problem, I began seeing the world more clearly.

A few months earlier I'd learned that I would need glasses. I was horrified. I already felt like the Ugly Duckling with my platinum blonde hair that was unlike anyone else's. Poor Dr. Corrigan. I cried when he told me I needed glasses and I was so worked up that I rushed through picking out a pair of attractive frames and went home with some terrible horned-rimmed specs that I quickly stashed in a drawer. I wore my new glasses when my parents were around but on my own, the eye glasses were never on my face.

For some reason I trusted Mr. Burton's shoebox and so I wrote an anonymous note about not wanting to wear my glasses and I dropped it in the box. Later that week our class was told of a "classmate" who did not dare wear her glasses to school in fear of being teased. Mr. Burton led the class in a discussion about differences and at recess he quietly asked me if I'd try wearing the new glasses for just 15 minutes the next day. I did wear them and before long, they were on my face full time. No one teased me. I'd eventually get better looking frames and contact lenses within just 18 months but I never forgot what my fifth grade teacher did for me.

Times have certainly changed. Wearing glasses is now considered to be pretty fashionable so when my son Paul learned he too would need them in the fifth grade, he took the news in stride. He did ask about getting contacts instead but only out of fear that he'd break his glasses while playing sports. When he learned at the eye doctor's office today that he'd only have to wear his glasses at school to read the board, and that his eye doctor wants him to wait until he's another year older before thinking about contact lenses, he shrugged and easily accepted the news.

His comment to me as we left the office was, "Taking all those tests was fun"! As he tried on various frames at the optician's shop, posing for his sister and I, and fixing his hair in the mirror, I couldn't help but be grateful that getting glasses was a piece of cake for him. It'd been a terrible experience for me when I was his age but he'd actually seemed to enjoy it! He easily has more confidence than I had at his age. Thank goodness.

Something tells me Dr. Corrigan and Mr. Burton would be pretty proud of me though for raising a boy as secure as Paul. Eye-glasses or no eye-glasses, he's got the healthiest perspective and self-esteem a Mom would ever want her 11 year old child to have. And he looks pretty darn adorable in those new specs too !!

Feeling Fragile

Tonight I began several different postings but after writing a few sentences or even a few paragraphs, I felt my fingers pushing the delete button. It's an evening when I feel utterly depleted. I was hoping to find inspiration so I looked at photos on my laptop, browsed through a few creative writing prompts even, but there's something hanging over me tonight that is preventing me from writing anything that doesn't sound sad or depressing.

To say I am not in a good mood tonight would be an understatement. I'm frustrated and I am restless. I am overwhelmed and stressed and I have not been able to shake the feeling for very long for a few days now. I know I'm bad off when I can't even bring myself to write about the specifics. But I'll be okay. This too shall pass.

One thing did help me tonight. I should have turned to it earlier perhaps. Music. I was not in the mood for just any song however. I needed to turn to one of my favorites, a song that is hauntingly beautiful in its simplicity. The reminder of my own fragility may not seem to be a logical pick-me-up, but it does the job of pressing upon me the fact that I deserve to cut myself a break. I need to lower my expectations of myself and others for a short bit at least and get myself some extra rest. Maybe a few tears will be released too; that always helps.

Fragile by: Sting

If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the color of the evening sun
Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away
But something in our minds will always stay

Perhaps this final act was meant
To clinch a lifetime's argument
That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could

For all those born beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star
Like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are
How fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star
Like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are
How fragile we are
How fragile we are
How fragile we are

Ready for Wonderland

He won't sing for you if you ask him to sing but take my word for it, he's got a strong singing voice. And good luck trying to get him out of those tee shirts and into a collared shirt. His hair always needs cutting but when you take him to get it cut, after he's begged you to make that appointment, he'll only get a trim because he doesn't want his ears to show.

Tonight I had the chance to sit in an audience of other parents his age as we watched the drama club perform an adaption of Lewis Carroll's famous Alice in Wonderland. My son, as the Red King, strutted on stage with a silk red suit coat, a few sizes too big, black pants, black sneakers, white shirt, and a padded red crown. His "longish" hair falling into his eyes, and his long jacket sleeves pushed up to his elbows, he recited his lines clearly and gave that king a little attitude. He made him cool. Later, playing an authority officer, then a ticket seller and popcorn vendor, the coolness factor increased. His older sister was quick to notice it too. And the best part of all was that we could tell he was having fun.

There's something fabulous about fifth grade, my son's last year of elementary school. After six years at my favorite school in the district, he'll move to his second school, the Middle School. He says he can't wait. He's looking forward to riding the bus directly to school. He's also excited to be old enough to have his own cell phone. And although in just two days he'll get glasses and in a couple of months from now, braces, he's had a pretty healthy attitude about all that too. He not only plays it cool, he is cool.

I've had the pleasure of hearing him sing. I've caught him in those "church only collared shirts". And hey, it's just hair. Yes, he's a fabulous fifth grader. He's a fabulous son. And yes, it'll continue to be a fabulous adventure with him as we both travel together through Wonderland.

Finding My Way

I have felt sick to my stomach for most of the day. I learned of Osama Bin Laden's death upon wakening and immediately saw Americans rejoicing--in the streets near Ground Zero and in the virtual world of Facebook. I well understood the sense of relief that we'd eliminated a face of great evil and I noted the support for the American soldier, but at the risk of sounding unpatriotic, I felt immediate nausea.

I do remember where I was when the twin towers were hit. I was in my classroom. A former student, who was then a senior, came into my room and said, "Mrs. W. A plane just struck the twin towers. We're being attacked!". Justin then saw my look of disbelief and said, "I'm not kidding around. Let me go get you a television". He rolled one into my classroom and we immediately began watching the news footage together. We'd later hear of more tragedy as the day unfolded.

I remember seeing the horrific images on the news and on every channel for days afterward until I finally turned off the television after having grown so numb and deeply disturbed by how everyone was weighing in, even celebrities. When I saw entertainment magazine shows devote their broadcasts to the tragedy, I felt sick and vowed never to watch those shows or any other celebrity function ever again. I made good on that vow for a number of years and although I did start following celebrity stories eventually, I still cannot watch or read them for very long.

I'd make three trips to New York City in the following years and I'd visit Ground Zero and the Little Church that Stood across the way with each of my children. I began donating money to my local fire station too.

I rode into work today and heard more chatter about the killing of Bin Laden. Radio hosts invited people to weigh in and conspiracy theorists raised their concerns which were later echoing in my classroom of teenagers. I found myself scrambling to find something to bring sense to how I was feeling. That's when I found myself turning to Ted Talks. "TED brings together the world's most fascinating thinkers and doers, who are challenged to give the talk of their lives (in 18 minutes or less)" (www.ted.com). That's when I found Ric Elias talking about three things he learned as his plane, Flight 1549, was going to crash-land in the Hudson River in New York back in 2009 after the plane hit some geese. (Thanks to the heroic pilot, all passengers were saved in that scary flight). Mr. Elias learned not to ever save good wine. He learned never to hold onto resentment in relationships, and he learned the most important thing he could ever do in this world is to be a good father. Listening to Mr. Elias helped me a bit today and sharing his talk with my last period class felt right too.

Upon my return home I was hit with more talk and more posts. I tried watching a comedic sitcom on tv to escape but it wasn't until I found the words of Father Lombardi, the Vatican's spokesman that I began to breathe more easily. Father Lombardi said, "Osama bin Laden, as we all know, bore the most serious responsibility for spreading divisions and hatred among populations, causing the deaths of innumerable people, and manipulating religions for this purpose. In the face of a man’s death, a Christian never rejoices, but reflects on the serious responsibilities of each person before God and before men, and hopes and works so that every event may be the occasion for the further growth of peace and not of hatred".

I am circling my world today not knowing where I am or why it is exactly that I feel ill. I am trying to help myself by turning to the words of those who have gone through something traumatic and have found purpose. I am remembering the weekend's sermon at St. Joe's about forgiveness and yet that is making me dizzy too. But it seems more sensible and right to be furthering and spreading ideas of peace rather than hatred. I want to acknowledge the lives of the innocents, all over the world, lost in the face of evil, and with all due respect to those who choose to do so in their own ways, I must do so in prayer.

Like Mr. Elias, I don't need another tragedy, national or personal, to know not to save the good wine and not to hang onto resentment in relationships I want in my life. The most important thing I could ever do in this world is to be a good Mom. So please understand, that for me, to take any other stance on today's news would not be true to this Mom's beliefs.

May Day

April showers bring May flowers. I tried to think of that on the dismal days of the past month and I awaited the days of warm weather and sunshine.

I always used to love May Day when I was a child. That was the day when I'd make little May baskets out of colored tissue paper, ribbons, and white doilies. I'd fill the baskets with candy and deliver them to my neighbors. I would receive May Day baskets in return and I was always in awe of the various creative designs my friends shaped their own baskets into. My favorite design was the honeycomb one. I forever wanted to learn how to make one of those! When my children were little, we sometimes took time to make May baskets to bring to our neighbors' houses. But no one else participated in the tradition. That saddened me. Ah well.

This May Day I made no attempt to make any baskets but I was hoping for a nice walk in the sunshine. The morning started out well, with time at Mass and a routine trip to the grocery store. But the afternoon brought a change. I was not feeling well. Being impatient with myself when I am under the weather like this, I grew frustrated. It's tough to have a day when you have plans for the day but you're not feeling 100%. But it's worse when it's May Day and the weather is beautiful outside.  Still, rather than fight it, I gave in and fell asleep for while.

Luckily, when I woke up, there was still time to enjoy the sun streaming in the windows. I spotted the beauty of the sunlight hitting the vase of pink flowers my husband bought me. I did not have the energy for that walk but I heard Eric open the grill out on the deck and I smiled. It seems I was not the only one thinking we could still make the most of this first day of May. As I bit into my first hot dog of the season, I remembered that I should count my blessings. Most days I have my health. That's more than some people can say. I'm sure to feel better tomorrow. I can get that walk in then. It's okay not to feel 100%, even on May Day.