My husband has no courage in him

I awoke from a dream in which Mandy, the dog of my youth, was still alive but old and brittle. Joy at seeing her after so many years coalesced with the immediate sadness of her frailty, her aged frame. As always (this has been a recurring dream) I knew my time with her was short and I embraced her gently with love. Missy D. was there, too. At one point, she merged with Mandy and faded before my eyes. Everything is temporary. Everything. Before I woke, a voice, disembodied, called  out "Kev". It was my dad. His tone wasn't plaintive or desperate or anything sharp with emotion. He may as well been calling me down for supper.

That was how my day began yesterday. I tried to cling to the residue of the dream, but it was vapor. I got on with my day; what else could I do? The dream didn't leave me curled up in the corner sobbing, it didn't settle over me like moor mist, but I would have preferred a different sort of wake up call. It is a heavy and aching thing, my grief. I think about my father every day and when I do the tears come, the heart swells, the breath picks up steam. Still, I'm navigating my way through it with the understanding that I'm evolving as I do. Having a direct experience with death forces one to look eventuality right in its gaping, infinite eye. It's not such a terrible thing. There have been moments of grace, beauty, and clarity. An unveiling, a peek beyond the stars. Not so terrible, but damn, dad, how I miss you. I say it again and again, over and over.

But look, I'm not here to call forth an army of tears. No, my children, I am of a mind (and of a heart and of a soul) to shift focus to the Truth (not Paul Pierce, though I wouldn't mind riffing about him because he is one of the greatest basket ball players of all time). There is meditation, there is yoga, there is Game of Thrones, there is my family, my friends, my fellow man. There is wonder, there is love, there is gratitude. Allies abound. No fucking army of tears here.

Gratitude. Let's begin there. Sure, it's not all gravy (Easter, for one thing, wasn't a ball - my mother and I continue to experience a strained relationship....oh, but I love her and she loves me) but I have things to be grateful for. Rather than focus on what's not working in my life, I'm going to pay homage to a few friends, family, really, without whom I'd probably be a flea-ridden, paint-huffing street hooker lurking the night gutters of the worst city's underbelly.

JANELLE

In this blog, not so long ago, I made the bold claim that Janelle is one of the greatest people I've ever met (or something like that). Guess what? I wasn't kidding, son! She is one of the most compassionate people I know, for starters. Yeah, look, she's a human being and has a shit ton of flaws (I'm talking a shit ton!). Sometimes she behaves so ridiculously and irresponsibly I just want to throttle and slap her raw...Oh, wait, I'm veering off track. Back to the good stuff; there is plenty and I'll only skim the surface here.

Compassionate, to be sure. I've lived with her; I've seen how caring and understanding and selfless she can be. The ways in which she gives of herself is something to behold.  When my father died, she kept me afloat (as did the two blokes that will follow). I remember one day, this was maybe a day or two after, when I lost my shit completely. It was perhaps the worst I've ever felt. I called Janelle at work and could barely talk, so deep in the maw of agony I was. She saved me that day, she eased me into a calmer, more focused state. If I recall correctly, all of this took place during their Christmas party. Not that she made mention of it, but let's face it, I wasn't exactly exuding holiday cheer that day and was what you would call a bummer. 

And what else? Oh, let's see: 1. She's a talented artist who just so happens to be in a band, which is a pretty cool thing, don't you think? 2. She has a super and often comical relationship with none other than The Baby Boy Z, the poochiest of pooches. 3. She's one of my favorite people to have conversations with. Go ahead, talk to her some time, she'll go as deep as you like. Just don't look her in the eye. She does not like that.

 I guess that's it. Oh, she likes shoes.

I love you Janelle.

CRAIG

I've known Craig since high school. Every time I tell him he's a man of character, he scoffs. But it's true. I've never seen him act condescending with anyone and he's frank and affable and has a booming laugh and likes U2 and plays guitar and bass and eats oven burgers.He's a solid, caring, honest guy. Yes, he has character.

I've always found him to be somewhat fascinating. He does things I've never considered, like call into radio stations or audition for The Real World. He has a crash test dummy fetish, too. Well, maybe not, but I wouldn't put it past him. He likes his Judge Napalitano (sp?), his Red Sox, his U2 (this cannot be stressed enough).

All of our friends find him just as fascinating as I do. It's true. He's so good natured, even when he's not. If he left our group of friends for some reason (French Foreign Legion bound, perhaps?) we'd all feel pretty lousy. You want this guy around.

I love you  Craig.


SPIRA

She is a fiery little shit, a mixer, a P&V. She is Spira. When I met her the first time, I had a strong feeling, one I haven't had since with anyone else, that I already knew her and that she'd play an important role in my life. She has, she has, she has. I love being with her, not always, but almost always. Several years ago, when she left for Vegas, I felt such loss that I wept like a child. I felt ripped apart. "How did that little shit do this to me?", I thought. But she did. I can't explain it, we're just like peas and carrots (thanks for the line, Forrest).

I'm so proud of her. She has accomplished so much and has gone deeper into her spiritual practice. She wears joy on her face almost every time I see her. It's a pleasant sight. And let's not forget she's the parent of the sweetest pup you're going to encounter, none other than Missy D.

I love you Spira.

And what about the rest of my friends, my family? Well, I'm a lucky guy and have them in abundance. And such fine people. I'm a lucky man. There is much to be grateful for.

Like ending this post. That is something to be grateful for. My thoughtful and comprehensive analysis of The Walking Dead will be forthcoming; I want to watch the season finale before I tally my thoughts about it.

Evangeline is almost all moved in. Matt didn't leave very gracefully, but he left. I'll have to elaborate in another post.

G'night, you delicate swans.