LIFE…

goes on. The wedding planning continues. Less than six months away. My daughter’s eyes sparkle every time she unveils the new countdown. “One hundred seventy days!” she exclaimed the other night, “Honey, we’re getting MARRIED!!” She giggles in a high-pitched voice, reaching out for Scott.

It’s the first day of spring today, leaving behind one of the most stonyhearted winters of my life. The weather has been perfect the last several days in the aftermath of damage from storm after storm. The sun seemed to have disappeared during those dark weather days; not today, though, as I sit in my kitchen and feel its brilliance settle on me, reassuringly.

Life goes on.

We have endured ups and downs, elation and disappointment, relief and worry. We can also say it in reverse- downs and ups, disappointment and elation, worry and relief. I have always felt a bit hesitant to fully experience happiness, since I was a child. I never knew why, possibly because I’m an old soul who realizes the impermanence of things. There’s a Taoist story that I’ve come across a couple of times and that other authors have referred to that illustrates this concept. It’s titled “Maybe” and it goes like this…

An old farmer had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. When his neighbors heard the news, they came to visit. “Such bad luck,” they said sympathetically. “Maybe,” the farmer replied. The next morning the horse returned, bringing three other wild horses. “How wonderful!” the neighbors exclaimed. “Maybe,” replied the old man. The following day, his son tried to ride on one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune. “Maybe,” answered the farmer. The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son’s leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out. “Maybe,” said the farmer.

Many “maybes” have come and gone these past few months. The deal on the house that Lindsay and Scott are buying almost fell through a number of times. They had to renegotiate. Right now, things are looking better. I still hold my breath until they have the key in their hands, until they sign the last of the countless number of signatures they will write at the closing.

Two nights ago we met the florist, Christina, at the hall to preview the flower arrangements for the wedding. My daughter amazes me sometimes in her attention to the very last detail of everything she wants. I have to pause, in awe of her, as she describes each facet of the table centerpieces, the cake, the bouquets, using her tiny delicate hands to articulate the significance of the colors, shapes, and sizes and of course, sparkle effect of each element. Vicky, the caterer, was there, as sparkly, herself, as ever. She was working with another couple but had to come out to express her approval of the centerpieces with her usual enthusiasm and humor. Vicky was born to do this- plan weddings. She always lifts my spirits. She even commented on my new red hair color. And she continues to refer to Lindsay and Scott as the “Lobster Couple.”

The lobster couple, despite their intense attention to detail and elegance, still have that cute little simple side to them. They could get just as excited over lobster as Taco Bell, which is what we all had for dinner last night. This is what I love about them- their fervor in everything they do. I hope they never lose that beautiful spirit, that zest for life. And then, it could be just their youth. Have I somehow lost that in my middle-aged frame of mind? And if I have, can it be reborn, somehow?

A cluster of colorful exotic flowers, from the sample centerpiece Christina created for us, sits in a vase as I enter my house now. I used to always buy fresh flowers every time I did my food shopping. Kimberly once asked me about this and then kept my response as a quote on her Facebook page: “Flowers are important. They remind us we’re alive.”

Recently, I stopped buying flowers even though I swore I never would. I switched to a plant with a flower blossom, in its place. Then, I’m even embarrassed to say, I supplanted that with wooden roses- faux flowers- shameful. It was because I was weary from constantly throwing out the dead or dying flowers. I should have respected their short lifespan, instead of avoiding their inevitable demise. So today, as a tribute to the first day of spring, I bought bright, yellow, fragrant daffodils in Trader Joes. Two bunches, $1.49 each.

Thank goodness for spring. If I were to link the seasons to life, spring- you would be birth. Summer would be youth, autumn would be age and winter would be death. The life cycle. Simple and profound all at once. I think that makes sense.

Anyway, I am so ready for spring.

Life goes on.

Life begins. Again.

Coming Home…

has been very difficult this week, very. Leaving home has been easier, though. It’s a new response to the comings and goings in our house, without our sweet, faithful, furry Coco there to greet us as we return or keep vigil when we left. It was her home more than anyone’s, actually, because she was always in it. A constant. A predictable certainty in our lives.

We set up a shrine for her- all her favorite toys, her blanket from my bed, photos of her as a puppy and through all the nine years we had her, her treat container and her collar, silent now- but reminiscent of the jingling it made when she was alive. I could almost hear it, growing more distant as each day goes by. Her fur still remains, not only in the bag they gave us when she died, but also all over the house. She used to bark angrily at me whenever I used any of those sweepers to remove her hair from the couch or the cushion of her window seat. It would make me yell and laugh at her at the same time. I can’t bring myself to do that now. I feel it would affront her absence. Lindsay found a piece of her fur on her pants while she was at work. She meticulously took it off and put it inside her sweater, close to her heart. All we have now is remnants of her fur, this shrine and our memories, which we share frequently- memories that make us a family

My Internet surfing has changed from diagnosing the symptoms of Coco’s illness to chat rooms where people, who recently lost their pets, congregate. That lasted about five minutes; chat rooms are definitely not for me- they’re frenetic and confusing. Then I found a website about grieving and pet loss, written by a veterinarian. The five stages of grief, as applied to mourning the death of your pet-

Denial- my denial appears in the automatic reactions I have when I drop a tissue to quickly pick it up so Coco doesn’t get to it and eat it. She loved to eat tissues. Quickly, I realize I don’t have to do that anymore and the shock grabs at my heart.

Anger (or lashing out)- Yes, definitely did that- to the poor young guy at the counter of CVS photo department. I indignantly blamed his equipment for cutting off one of my pictures of Coco I had printed, only to find out when I came home that the picture was cut off to begin with. I have gone back to the photo department, with my “tale between my legs”, so to speak, to reprint these photos. I think the poor guy is afraid of me- I thought I noticed his hands trembling when I came to the counter. Oh well, it’s not me; it’s the stages of grief- you were, unfortunately, at the receiving end, poor young guy.

Bargaining- I did the bargaining when we found out Coco was terminal. I made a deal with G-d that if s/he made her well I would be the one to take her out first thing every morning. When she died, I constantly went over in my mind the things I could have done differently to prevent this whole thing; for example, did I hit her on the head to scold her when she was naughty and give her the brain tumor? Jewish guilt, a hereditary flaw. My Aunt Dorothy suffers from that, as well. To this day, she thinks she gave my Uncle Fintz a brain tumor from throwing a can of peaches or something at his head when they were children.

Depression- Enough said. Looking at every empty spot she used to lay in depresses me.

Acceptance- We’re getting there. The compassion of others is helping. Our family and friends have been wonderful during this time- sending cards, messages on Facebook, calling to “check” on us. We have even heard from friends I haven’t spoken to in a long time. All this has been an immense source of comfort. Even from strangers. A kind woman and her husband sent me a message on Facebook after she read my blog. They told me they have a Coco, too- a Lab Golden mix. At the end of their note, they said that my Coco is “now closer to the almighty and lending assistance with good deeds for you and your family.” Coincidently, on the day she sent me this message, Lindsay and Scott heard good news- their mortgage was approved on the house they are in contract with. Hooray!!! I looked at the message again that this woman had sent to figure out how she would know me and my blog- and found out we are connected by a mutual friend- Sheri- Scott and Lindsay’s real estate agent. Another coincidence? Or perhaps, not. This mere, yet meaningful event has led me to the “acceptance” stage.

Bad things happen and good things happen, too- the Yin and Yang of life. There is death; there is life. There is sadness; there is happiness. The day after Coco’s death, a week ago, that night at dinner, my mom was with us. She had a glass of wine and before she drank, made a toast “Only good things from now on.” I looked at her and said, “We’d like to have only good things, but bad things do happen and without them, we wouldn’t have the good things, really.” We needed this good thing, now.

And now, Lindsay and Scott have a house. A place to make memories, a place for their love and their lives to grow. A backyard for children to laugh and play and for dogs to run. A place for coming home.