Reggie’s passing broke my heart every way a heart can be broken, including my heart for writing. I have not been able to summon the courage to write anything of consequence since.
Today, for whatever reason, the loss of all my dogs as well as other losses since rolled up on me all at once and beat the crap out of me. A friend who was once dear to me, lost to an unspeakable act of domestic violence. Two members of my extended family, lost to illness and accident. One hundred pounds lost off my own frame by steady diet and exercise, only to be almost entirely regained within a year because of unassuagable grief, unrelenting stress, and dark impulses I don’t understand.
The greatest loss has been the fitness I worked so hard to gain from the start of 2020 until the summer of 2021, when everything started to fall apart. I took a job at a bakery, briefly, that cratered my workout schedule and gave me too many opportunities to eat the wrong things. I adopted a pair of cats named Silver and Gold that are delightful creatures 23.5 hours a day and unholy terrors for the half hour or so that it takes them to roust me out of bed between 5 and 6 a.m., and waking up yelling in the darkness every morning has strained my nerves to the breaking point.
Worst of all, my sister stopped speaking to me and we can’t seem to fix what’s wrong, which is as crushing to me as if she had died.
With the loss of my fitness and my return to emotional eating has come physical pain, wave on wave. Migraines, muscle cramps, sciatica, arthritis. Some days I can barely get out of bed, and exercising feels like a cruel punishment. I traded a hectic and stressful delivery job earlier this year for a sit-down but equally stressful office job, and both have taken their toll on my body. The expenditure of energy required just to get through the days with chronic pain leads to chronic fatigue, so even when I have the time to exercise, I have no energy left after doing what must be done in order to earn a living. Even walking a couple of miles is a challenge now.
So it was with some trepidation that I headed out this afternoon to a reservoir not far outside of my town where I used to love to walk with all my dogs—Ruby, Rudy and Reggie. It is a place of beauty and silence that can soothe the most troubled soul, but because I always went there with dogs, it’s been hard for me to go alone. It’s like walking with ghosts.
Today the fragmented memories of a hundred walks along those roads and trails with a leash or two in my hand coalesced into a mosaic of happiness and sadness, and my tears fell in a drenching cataract that I feared would never end. But just as all storms eventually run out of rain, so too does grief run out of tears. Following the river, watching the clouds and the sun and an eagle circling silently overhead, smelling the sagebrush leaves crushed between my fingers, I realized that while we can never step into the same river twice, the river itself remains—moving ever forward, as we also must. Putting one foot in front of the other, moment to moment and day to day.
When I think about the life I gave my dogs, and the life they gave to me in return, I wonder who was the richer. I hope the final accounting will find us square. I carried them with me in my heart today, as I always have, and always will. The day may yet come when I look back upon that life they gave me and smile because I had it rather than cry because it is over.
Perhaps, in time, I can move on like the river.
Though nothing can bring back the hour
~ William Wordsworth
Of splendour in the grass,
of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind ….