Sometimes hummingbirds and cardinals aren’t enough. Sometimes they actually make me feel worse because I wonder if I’m grasping at nothing–a mirage in the desert. I mean, sometimes they are incredibly comforting, especially the hummingbirds which are now regular visitors to the feeders (I added a second one). One of them even flew right up to Emily yesterday. He was a few inches from where she was sitting with Roo in her lap, but…
There are moments where I want to see Ana’s face and hear her voice so badly that I swear my soul hurts. This weekend was like that and so was most of last week. It’s like going on vacation caused a kind of grief boomerang. It shatters my concentration making it difficult to work–and I need to work. Life can’t stop forever, right?
Also, Roo has been sick the last couple of days and that has had me absolutely beside myself with worry. I took him to an emergency vet yesterday (he’d been up all night crying, needing to go outside and had diarrhea and vomiting in the morning). He was diagnosed with something called hemorrhagic gastroenteritis which according to my good friend Google can be fatal. Apparently Toy Poodles are especially susceptible to this. He was given antibiotics because the underlying issue is bacteria in his intestines which he presumably got from something he ate. He wasn’t dehydrated and his labs were normal, so I took him home and kept him away from food and water most of the day. I was absolutely BESIDE myself at the thought of losing him. He’s so much more than just a dog. He was Ana’s wish dog–her love. He’s been my constant companion on walks. I’m just so grateful for him.
He’s much better today (thank goodness), but I’m still worried and this episode has brought up so many feelings from when Ana was sick–helplessness, worry, terror, the reality that we can’t hold onto anything or anyone, no matter how much we love them.
I was reading through some old journal entries and found a short entry I’d written on 3/18 (four days before Ana died). It clarified how I’d felt in those days as I watched Ana slipping away (the very same feelings that came up when Roo got sick) yesterday. I turned it into a short poem.
I resent the passive cruelty of time
how it strips away our moments
pushing us into the unprotected center.
Myth offers no comfort
with its false narrative
There’s no past for me, no future
It’s all ghosts.
The moon lends itself well
to fictions of the mind
and night and day and death,
I doubt the sky mourns the sunset
or the Earth dwells on melting snow
or spring laments those buds
taken too soon by a late frost.
We’re cursed to dwell
on the strange permanence
of our desires.