And I’m walking Greta and Tala and thinking about grief because I’m putting my dog to sleep today sometime between 11 and three, and I asked the vet to text a half hour before he arrives to give me a chance to run home because I’m on my 15 hour workday stretches—it’s been spring break for folks over the last two weeks—plus I’m moving and the order in which to triage the chaos is like looking in every direction for due north because your entire system is malfunctioning. And it’s a cool morning, and the girls’ fur sways to our movement. And I look to the sky and think of my dog; how she came to me while I was living a life I don’t even recognize anymore and grew with me and I with her, and how this week, I’ve been fighting this day with steaks hastily cooked, trying to get her to eat so she doesn’t vomit up
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The story of ratty shoes
Saturday 11/25, 9:53 a.m., Salt Lake City. It’s hard to know what to do with the grief of this world. I look at this man and his dog and feel the pressure of disappointment on both his heart and my own; I can feel the loss of the dream he had for his own life and experience that loss with him. For I don’t move about my world so as to push it away from me; I welcome it to settle within me and become part of my experience; I let it teach me and humble me so that I can grow more each day in understanding and perhaps one day maybe we humans can be a collective, empathic, love-filled whole again.
