Ugghh. I am beginning this blog by quoting semisonic. Happy almost Christmas, 2008. Or, not happy, as today would find me. All of Massachusetts, and especially Boston, is basically shut down by the promise of a whopper of a snow storm, although the snow right now is falling in angry little biting flakes, instead of the big fluffy ones we were promised. And I in my slipper boots have snuggled in all day, cleaning and working and being generally cheerful, in the way that a snowstorm can make you.
And then my sister called. Sometimes, when people have bad news, it seems as though they rush to be the first one to call you, as though giving the bad news to someone else makes it not their own anymore. They are now THE HOLDER OF INFORMATION and not just a person with terrible, sad, awful news weighing heavy on their heart. They get to hear you pause as you take in the news, your heart now struggling under the weight of it, and they breathe a but easier-- they've handed that some of that pain off.
My parents had their 6 month old puppy put to sleep this morning. Poor Saber. When I first met him, in June, he was a little bundle of energy, all hot puppy breath and sharp little teeth that wanted to bite your chin while you held him. He was joy, personified. Dad picked him out, saying he wanted the puppy with the head that looked like a block. Mom was going through chemo for the breast cancer she had been diagnosed with just four months earlier, and this puppy was more than a puppy to them. He was a symbol of hope, that she would be around to see him grow up. Turns out she wasn't the one we needed to worry about.
The last time I was home, that stupid dog, now grown up to a full sized animal, (though he still believed he was a puppy) climbed up on top of me in a recliner and stretched himself out, his head on my shoulder, his feet by my feet. He groaned and moaned his contentedness, and promptly fell asleep. His breath still smelled like puppy breath.
And just last week, they said he didn't seem himself. Then to the vet, a couple days later, when he stopped eating. Then all of a sudden it was medicine and all sorts of medical terms that don't bear repeating. Last night they said he was looking better, and my Mom had a smile in her voice for the first time in a week. And then, this morning, my sister calls.
"They had Saber put down this morning."
"What? Why? They said he was better! Are you sure?"
"He wasn't better, Ash, and Mom is devastated. You should call."
I called, and my Mother cried so hard on the phone that she couldn't breathe. She sounded like a child, hiccuping through their tears, so full of emotion and unable to get it out.
A snowstorm makes us all pause, and the silence in any city is stunning. No cars rushing by, people retreat into their homes, and suddenly you realize all the noise you are bombarded with on a daily basis, made all the more clear by the sudden lack of it. And then the world starts again, plows come out, and people get on with their lives.
2008 has brought hardship, it has been an unpleasant and unfair and unfortunate year, even as it has had laughter and love and dinners out and new paychecks, and new puppies.
2008- a year of breast cancer, a year of sick grandparents, of sudden deaths of friends... did you have to take the dog too? We've had enough, 2008. Please let us be. As this year limps toward the end, and gasps its final breath, I hope that 2009 brings a little more hope and happiness. And I hope that stupid dog went peacefully, knowing he was loved possibly more than any dog ever has been.
No comments:
Post a Comment