Because of a minor procedure on my right eye, I was advised to buy artificial tears three weeks ago. That is funny, because truly I have been manufacturing my own tears for much longer. I could be selling tears by the tiny bottle. Happy tears, but mostly terribly sad tears, nothing in between. Highs and lows, a topography of tears.
The day in March that we went into a statewide lockdown, my watch stopped working. Today, even as Covid-19 increasingly circulates, I finally went into a tiny shop in downtown Corvallis and got it fixed. Nearby I went into my favorite little store and, masked & cleaned, bought two pairs of Smartwool socks.
I came home and hugged Reub. There were tears of joy. Complicated, anxious, deaf, old Reuben. We are without his lifelong best friend, Eddy. Tears of grief. Ed died a month ago, sweetly at the hands of his vet, in our back yard.
There are whole volumes that I could write about Eddy, a quirky, hilarious, intelligent, driven, entirely devoted companion. But I have already written these things, and now it is time to move on, grief recognized by all who know. I lay a flower on his grave every day, and you had best not call that foolish. The name of this obscure blog will never change.
Reuben got a special hug because yesterday he spent the whole time on an IV at the vet, heroically
not-succumbing to a terrible, painful hemmorage in his abdomen.
It was a metaphor for the world right now, a world of pain that somehow survives it all. Because sometimes things can be fixed, and for that I am grateful. Old Reub lives, and my watch works now.
Sorry for your loss.
ReplyDeleteI don't think I ever knew the origin of your blog name.
When I first started I thought it was all going to be authored by the dogs. And in fact, some of it was. Now it's more reminiscent of two old friends talking to themselves randomly. Ed and Reub. :)
DeleteSome things can be fixed - a message of hope if there ever was one. Sending a hug.
ReplyDeleteAh thank you Pauline. You are among the most hopeful poets that I know.
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful post - both words and photos. We cherish their friendship and mourn when they're gone.
ReplyDeleteThanks Barb. So true.
DeleteSuch a sad time when those who have been our friendliest companions leave us. I am glad that you feel safe in going into town. Precautions are good protection.
ReplyDeleteI hope you’re staying safe out there on the east coast. We are very careful.
DeleteEddy was a good boy. He enriched our lives beyond measure.
ReplyDeleteYes, what a great pal. I miss his fine-tuned sense of humor every day.
Deletesad sad when our dog companions die.
ReplyDeleteThey spend more time with us than our closest human friends. It leaves a big hole in my life when I lose a dog.
DeleteSo much of a burden. 2020 cannot be over too fast for me. Our pets are our family and the loss of them is too painful to believe.
ReplyDeleteyes.
DeleteI have only returned to a long absence from blogging so I just saw this post. Following Ed and Reub was a favorite journey for me and I am so sorry about the loss of Eddy and happy for the survival of Reub. I still have my old girl Slim and she keeps up with the younger girl Frankie.
ReplyDeleteOmigosh, hello!
ReplyDeleteI loved the photos, especially the one of Ed and Reub looking at one another. What with the mist in the air and the space between them, I find the photo mysterious. It isn't even much of a stretch for me to regard it as metaphor for the separation brought by death, a separation that leaves them still reunited but forever apart. Maybe I told you that part of my interest in having cats came from the thought that I wouldn't grieve so much when one of them died, but, although I've yet to lose one (my oldest is eleven and my youngest two), I know I was wrong. Even now, the thought of death sometimes comes to me when I'm petting them, and if I can become that sad even in the midst of life, I know I won't escape prolonged misery when death comes. I know that I could tell you a thousand times how sorry I am for your loss, and it still wouldn't be enough because nothing in the entire world can prevent even a single tear from falling, although it is hoped that the caring of others might help prevent feelings of isolation and bitterness.
ReplyDeleteI only cry vicariously or when I'm touched by something. A typical example might be that I'm watching a documentary about war, and will start crying because I'm touched by the heroism or in grief because of the loss. Sad, heroic, or otherwise touching stories about animals also get to me. When my mother died, I didn't cry then, but I cried for years afterwards upon awakening from dreams about her.