Rhythms

03-01-2009

Two weeks ago, a boxer named Buster died. I didn’t know Buster, hardly know his owner. Buster’s owner and I spend our Monday mornings getting out butts kicked in a strength aerobics class by a woman my same age. But, obviously, there is not a lot of discussion around dogs or kids, unless one of us gets there early.

Three days ago, Murphy died. Murph was a black lab that had been a constant companion of my brother-in-law’s since he had graduated from college. Murph was 15 and half and had lived a long life, enjoyed lounging at our lakehouse and in general, getting in the way.

I see the look in the owners' faces, as if they have just lost their best friend and I cant stand it. I lost my best friend once already, my first husband, had to spend seven years writing a book about it, publishing it and am still speaking to grief groups today on the topic of loss. Mark says, I write best about loss. So this kind of scares me, because I don’t want Enzo to wind up in the loss category, not that there is a win category either, but loss, no way.

I have already envisioned Enzo as my companion, brushing up against my stockinged feet while I write. I have already imagined having to stop, mid brilliant thought, before putting the pen to paper, to let the darn dog out.

I see Enzo and the two neighboring goldens having a barkfest while I am trying to write. I see all these ways in which Enzo will comfort and also usurp me from my writing throne and thrust me into backyard for cleanup or call in duty. And too, I am made aware of all the ways that Enzo could take up space in my life, and then, one day, be gone.

So I am committed to treasuring him each day, even before he arrives here. I am committed to rise with a certain amount of vigor when he needs to pee. I feel more intentional about this than with my baby, now 12 year old Davis, when he was born. Perhaps because I am picking the time in my life when Enzo is coming, I am picking the actual day, when with Davis, he arrived a few weeks early. Long before nesting was complete. So, we never quite settled into any routine other than our walks on the beach.

I am hoping that Enzo will help me re-estalish the rhythms in my life that have been missing for so long, the rhythm of writing, of seeking, of just being.