Neither one of us

 

Writing isn't a chore for me, as in "assignment, task, drudgery, or labor."   I can thank Ms. Dampier, my high school English teacher for that.  She'd assign us to read essays by Thoreau, Emerson, Whitman, Mark Twain,  among others and follow them with writing assignments.  "Boring," "busy work," or even "boring busy work" may have been our initial reaction.  How that changed with the reading and explication the very first time we read one! 

While the assignments might have come across as dreary, tedious, or drudgery, Ms.  Dampier made them come alive!

It wasn't until I taught high school English years later that I understood my favorite teacher had loomed decades ahead of her times! Ms. Dampier taught "critical thinking skills" long before a curriculum committee had categorized them.  I posit her sophomore literature class accounts for the peculiar facility writing offers me.

Further. when my incubating gift of putting thoughts on paper showed itself, I reflexively blurted, 
"Alright, God, You write and I'll type!" What! True dat.  Ever since He's been painting pictures with words and I've faithfully recorded them.  A perfect work order emerged; without question, I acknowledge the One in charge, the Director of assignments.  I try to be a good steward of the gifts He gives me, and forever will.

When I sat down to record my anguish about having to make the heart-wrenching, spirit-breaking decision to put Kai, my beloved longhaired Dachshund "down," no words came forth.  Not even a peep of the pain hovering within.   After the sweetly compassionate caregivers tenderly completed the procedure (assuring me, "he will feel no pain"), my misery intensified.  

It felt almost as bad as riding the roller coaster of shock, anger, denial, and bargaining that had engulfed me when Courtney died.

I caught my breath looking at Kai after he'd transitioned, then the tears flooded forth in spasms.  How long I stood in that absolutely quiet room, I do not know.  Finally and gently. Tracey, my surviving daughter, guided me away.  

I never said "Goodbye" or even "See you later," and I cannot now.  Is it that I don't want another stiletto of sadness to pierce my innards? Maybe, if I can't force a farewell to part paralyzed lips, then I can't implant them in my heart? Days pass and I begin early daybreak, solitary walking without Kai.  Missing him intensifies sounds and stride, and imagining him stopping to ground-sniff every few steps or so, almost paralyzes me.

Dogs that used to announce our approach no longer greet us, and no longer herald our nearness.  Do they wonder why they no longer sense his scent" Do they know Kai is in Heaven and not on vacation? My lonely route holds no surprises and even less interest.  I have to catch myself when I start talking to Kai about the lightning-fast rabbit sprints.  Actually, they never held Kai's interest, either as a potential friend or unlikely foe.

I grieve Kai, during my daily treks, throughout these interminable days, but especially as we'd prepare for bed. My grief hurts really bad! Constantly.

"I keep wondering (wondering)
What I'm gonna do without you (without you)
And I guess you must be wondering
The same thing too
Ooh neither one of us (neither one of us)
Wants to be the first to say
Farewell my love
Goodbye (goodbye)."