The Anxiety of Loving Your Soul Dog

I've written about Elliot before. He's my soul dog. For those of you who need the definition, here's the best one I found:

"A soul dog refers to a dog with whom a person shares an emotionally deep connection, often described as a once in a lifetime bond. This relationship is characterized by a mutual understanding and profound impact on each other's lives."

Indeed!!! There are so many beautiful gifts this kind of relationship has to offer to the human and, of course, the dog. 

However, there are, of course, concerns. Deep concerns. For example: I'm retired, which means I'm retired and home 24/7. That's by choice, because I've learned that being a dog parent should be taken seriously.  Believe me, I take it seriously.

Which leads me to my dilemma.  My amazing twenty year old grandson dropped out of college to pursue his music career. (I'm so proud of him. It's a gutsy thing to do.) He became the lead singer and bass player of a band in Flagstaff, AZ. They have quickly become a local favorite and are now being paid for gigs. Recently, they landed a pretty big job as one of the bands playing at a huge venue, the Pepsi Arena in Flagstaff.  The whole family is going. 

Pets are not allowed at the arena and now we are looking for a trusted pet sitter. There's also Enzo to consider. But I believe Enzo will be fine. He'll warm up to a sitter, especially if she feeds him on time. Elliot will probably do the same; especially if lots of treats are involved.  

Yesterday my husband booked a hotel room for us and my anxiety level hit the roof. As the date is quickly approaching, the trepidation I feel is manifesting itself in thoughts of dread and "what if"s. "What if Enzo bites, or Elliot doesn't get his sun screen on his nose. What if they bark constantly ????" 

You get the picture. Yet, even writing this down helps ease the scenario  from certain trauma for all involved, to seeing the anxiety monster shrink and admit defeat.

Still...

So there ya have it. My grandson has such an amazing talent and anxiety about Elliot and Enzo aside, I'm beyond excited to hear him and watch him play. I hope I live to see his clear talent provide a living for him; a good living. And I hope that when I'm gone, he'll know that his Poppy was there, rooting for him the whole way up!

 

Dear Dad...

 Where are you when I need you??? I mean, there were a few times, right? ?  I could count on one hand really. But when the world is blowing up, a girl wants her dad to tell her that we'll survive.  But, it was mom who was always there for me, not you. 

Still, I feel like that little girl during the Cuban Missle Crisis. You were serious and wouldn't talk about it around us. You seemed to carry the load. But the load is so much heavier now, and I'm an adult carrying the load. I have no idea how to carry this one!!!

This is short today. I've said all that I can. So, I'll end with a DMB song... course.

"The world is blowing up

The world is caving in

The world has lost her way again

But you are here with me

But you are here with me

Makes it ok

[Verse 1]

I hear you still talk to me

As if you're sitting in that dusty chair

Makes the hours easier to bare

I know despite the years alone

I'll always listen to you sing your sweet song

And if it's all the same to you

I love you oh so well

Like a kid loves candy and fresh snow

Love you oh so well

'Nuff to fill up heaven overflow and fill hell."

The Haunting

 Dear Dave,

It's been 57 years since you died. What a horrible moment! A moment, a time of extreme anguish for so many. For me. It's taken me a lifetime to process the grief, the questions, the loss.

Since your death there have been so many moments, dreams and experiences that point to the idea you're still with me.  The word haunting means having qualities such as sadness or beauty that linger. It's not that scary definition I used to believe as a child, it's a quiet, sad, lingering feeling; it's a string of strange experiences that point to the idea that you're around, that you're still with me. If I listed them here, it would be too much to write at the moment. It would be a book in itself! 

So many dreams, songs that hit a place in my soul, vivid encounters that are incredibly 'other worldly'. Just for the sake of others who read this, I'll list one experience that was especially unexplainable. 

It was in the early 2000's, I was living in  Kansas City, when one day, while driving home from work during rush hour, on a busy street it was literally stop and go traffic.  In the lane next to me, on my left was a 1967 GTO. That's what you drove, a 1967 GTO.   Traffic was now moving slowly, around 25 mph.  There was a car behind the GTO, and the car behind it was ANOTHER 67'GTO. It felt, I felt, other worldy' for sure. I believed it was your way of saying that you're here.

Anyway, I know that we're connected. It just obviously  wasn't meant to be that we would share our lives together.  Yours was cut so short. I'll never understand why you were taken so young. Even in my intense grief, my 17 year old self, I felt the pain your mother must have felt, the pain your father felt, and the pain your brother Larry felt. 

In almost seven months I'll be 75. Unbelievable! I've been happily married for 50 years in July. (Well, some years were more difficult than others.) But since the day I met you, you have always been in my heart, in my soul.  

I had a dream last night about a friend of mine who is now gone. For some reason, one train of thought about the dead led to another, but those thoughts always, ALWAYS, wind up with you.

It's strange, because I can't say I miss you, but I can say I have always and will always wonder 'what if'. I'll alway have questions. One specific question is, was our young love really what I remember? Did you really love me? 

Two or three nights before you died, I broke up with you. Our relationship was turning real sour, toxic. We had been together close to two years.  Yet I mustered the courage to break up with you. I felt empowered when I did that, very sad, but empowered.  

Then, you called me the night before you died. I'd been here before; you were going to pursue me, I'd cave, and we would wind up getting back together.  But I told my sister, who answered the phone, to tell you I didn't want to see you again. That night, I had a dream that you were in a helicopter accident. The only person I told about that dream before you died was my father. 

The next night,  you were riding around in your friend's jeep. Mike was driving, he took a corner too fast, skidded, and you were both thrown from the jeep. You died at the scene of head injuries.  

The second question will always be, what would have happened if I had answered the phone that night. And no, I can honestly say I don't feel guilt, at least not most of the time. I just wonder. 

Well, I need to get back to my 74 year old life. I still love you, because love never dies, even imperfect love.

Will I see you again? That's the million dollar question, isn't it.

From my heart,

Peggy