This wasn’t just plain terrible, this was fancy terrible. This was terrible with raisins in it. – Dorothy Parker
Some days have extra raisins, to paraphrase Dotty Parker.
Monday I punched out my imaginary timecard (the thing we freelancers seem to never do – as though if we did we might melt), to be with my sister. Whatever projects and deadlines and anxieties could wait because I wanted to be sure she was OK. That’s a big sister reflex I’ll never grow out of. Ever.
About four months ago, a friend was helping to rehome a French bulldog. Since I have one, she thought of me. I may have wanted to take him home the first time I met him. Possibly regretted my first reaction that I couldn’t have another dog. What’s cuter than one French bulldog? Two, right?
It just so happened I knew the perfect home for him as my sister and her fiancé were looking at Frenchie rescues. I was so happy that they were so happy. It was like playing matchmaker only better.
Until Monday, when she came straight from the vet where he’d passed away quite unexpectedly and horribly.
I didn’t know what to say. Tears came easier. I spent a good part of the day trying to wrap my head around the fact that the sweet pup was gone. I felt a gnawing guilt knowing that I brought them together and that the pain they felt was in some way introduced by me. There’s this part of me that always wants to protect her. Always. Like when she was in kindergarten, and I would walk over from the big play yard to the kinder fence at recess to say hi rather than head to the monkey bars. Just to make sure she was OK. She always ran over to say she was.
Monday afternoon, she and her fiancé played with my dogs and we talked and played with the pups some more. They made the afternoon tolerable.
Heading out the door that evening, she thanked me for the three months and ten days she had him. How much they’d meant to her. I didn’t know what to say. I’d spent hours trying to find the right words to comfort them and here she was comforting me. It seemed wrong.
Some things never change. I will forever want to protect her from the world. And she will always be there to tell me everything will be OK. I can’t protect her from reality anymore than she can assure me things are always going to be fine. But we’ll try.
Goodnight, sweet pup. xo a.
And now, four more great things someone else said about, well, not saying much:
I like it when it rains hard. It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty. – Mark Haddon, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Not everything has to have a point. Some things just are. – Judy Blume
In Silence there is eloquence. Stop weaving and see how the pattern improves. – Rumi
We could not talk or talk forever and still find things to not talk about. – Best In Show