I find myself talking to my mutt like I think I would have talked to my pops, if I had taken care of him when he was old. I never had the chance, he was killed in a car accident when I was 21 and he was 60. It was a drunk driver, who was driving over 100 mph when he slammed into the rear of my dads little Toyota. It was nasty. My dad was thrown from the car. He suffered major head trauma, and survived long enough for all of us to say good bye. He didn't really survive on his own, the machine kept him warm enough for us to gather, pray, hope and dream for a while. Then finally realizing it was best to let him go and we did. I was there, I watched his body stop.
I loved my pop, didn't really know him. I was the youngest of 7 kids. By the time I came to the family he was tired, tired of being a dad. The 6 before me challenged him. He lived through the depression, was a WWII vet and his kids embraced the hippie life style. He loved me the best he could, but he had given up any hope that he could influence his kids lives. He had given up on a lot of things. He didn't make much money and my mom was a little hard on him. I lived in between them. Two very tired people who tolerated the youngest.
I worked with my dad in a small commercial upholstery business he had. We worked during the night, watched the sun come up. We worked mostly in silence in big hotel conference rooms, closed restaurants and bars. He would smoke his pipe and rarely say anything to me other then to give me directions of what to do. I knew in my heart he loved me, he just never showed it.
I did take care of my mom when she was ill and dying. I was with her when she took her last breath. I feel very lucky to have been there to witness their deaths. It wasn't scary, it wasn't a struggle, it was peaceful and full of morphine.
With Bear I find I am gentle, loving and compassionate, I am so happy to see this side of me again. I tend to think that I am cold, mean and bitchy so it's a relief to know that there is still some goodness in me.
He is such a sweet mutt. He has a funny look in his eyes now. I can see panic and confusion and a lot of "oops, I'm sorry, I didn't know I had to go" looks. I can only pet, and console "it's ok sweetie".
2 comments:
Damn woman! You are good in the middle of the night! I get to meet your pop in, what, 500 words? His life, his youngest daugther at his side; his work, his youngest daugther at his side; his tragic death, his youngest daugther at his side. His regular customers could have called such a man, "Bear" and the cub, "Hope'.
Keep writing. Keep Writing. Keep writing.
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