Keeping the Faith

 

Toni?

No!

No?

I’m tired. I’m tired and I’m scared.

You’re not alone, you know.

Then why do I feel all alone?

You’re not. The whole world is feeling what you are feeling.

But why? Why is it happening?

You know why.

No! I don’t!

You do. You know about opposites. You know there is no “up” without a “down.” No “in” without an ‘out.”

But why? What does it mean?

Mean? Maybe there is no meaning.  Don't you remember what the poet said: What does a flower mean? Maybe the only meaning is in the experience. Experience it. All of it. The good and the bad. The love and the fear. Besides, it’s almost over. Hang on! Keep the faith! Can you do that?

I'll try.                                                             

Will you do that?   

Yes.

         

 

In Heaven

I am not a “dog person.”  I never was, but in recent months my feelings have been shifting. I’m not sure why, but right now I'd like to tell you three stories, each seemingly unrelated, except that each one is about an experience I have had with a dog. 

1) A long time ago – it was 1976 to be exact – when I was recently separated and living with my children in Pennsauken, New Jersey, I had no car but managed to find a job I could walk to. In order to get there, however, I had to cross Route 38, a six-lane highway. 

One day while I was walking to work I realized a dog was following me. I didn’t know why he was following me, but despite my efforts, I couldn’t shake him. When I reached the intersection I had to cross, I stopped (and the dog did too). I noticed the light was red, but there was no traffic and I knew I could make it to the center where I would wait on the small island for the light to turn green. When I got to the island, I stopped, but this time the dog did not. Instead, he stepped off the island and into oncoming traffic.  

2) One of the last things I posted on this blog was a story about my sister who, after she became a widow, went to a shelter to adopt a dog. Whenever I went to visit her, I’d try to stand back, but the dog would inevitably jump up onto the sofa and into my lap. On one occasion, after I shifted to avoid him, my sister noticed and said, “Hey! Don’t treat my dog that way!” When I retorted that his halitosis was enough to kill, she laughed and pushed him toward me. Later as my sister lay dying, that dog laid in bed beside her, comforting and protecting her. I don’t know how, but he knew she was dying long before I did.

3) Late one Saturday morning back in January, I had a dream in which I was walking along what felt like the milky way. Except for what seemed like a thousand stars, I was surrounded by nothing but darkness. As I walked, I realized there was a dog walking beside me, sometimes running ahead of me, and then coming back again to walk by my side. Eventually, we came to a door. I knocked and when the door opened a friend of mine who died four years ago was standing there.

“Is this your dog?" I asked him even though in life he, like me, was not a dog person either.

He laughed. “No,” he said, “but he likes to come here at night to sleep with me.” 

"Really?" I thought as I woke up and, even with my eyes closed, felt the daylight forcing itself into my room from behind the blinds. I stayed in bed with my eyes closed for a while longer that morning. And then, thinking about my sister, my friend, and the animals who seem always to be moving so far ahead of me, I cried.

And now that I've told you those stories I think I know why. You see, until now I've never told that story to anyone - the one about the dog who died in traffic that day and now that I have - well, telling it won't bring him back. Nothing will. But right now I'd like to imagine that he was the same dog who was following me in my dream that morning and that both my sister and my friend are taking turns taking care of him in heaven.  

My memoir, Dear Elvis, is available at amzn.to/2uPSFtE

The Stuff that Dreams are Made Of

Yesterday, when my alarm clock went off just before 5:00 a.m., I found myself wanting just a few more minutes of sleep before I got out of bed.  Okay, I said to myself, you can have two more minutes.  Any longer and I knew I’d fall back to sleep and wind up being late for work.  

In what seemed like just moments, I was at the bottom of the driveway that leads to the garage where I work.  For those of you who don’t already know, I drive a school bus and the driveway I’m talking about is so narrow that only one bus can enter or exit at a time.
 
When I started working there back in September, I was told the driveway was going to be widened, but not until next year.  So when I arrived yesterday, I was surprised to see that the driveway was blocked and that two crews were already removing the trees that lined it.

Surprised or not, I parked my car in the lot that had not been there before the holidays and started walking up the hill. I waved to the first crew, who waved back and kept walking. I waved to the second crew, but they didn't see me. I kept walking until I suddenly realized all of the dirt the second crew had removed from the earth was headed in my direction.  I screamed and tried to outrun it, but instead, I tripped and fell to my knees. The dirt continued to descend, coming over my head like a tidal wave. I knew I was about to be buried alive when I woke up.

Awake, I got out of bed, but I was shaking from head to toe. The dream had been so vivid, so real that I felt I was about to suffocate.  Out of bed now, I turned on the television to distract myself and started getting ready for work until I stopped suddenly in my tracks, realizing what the dream meant. I had not, as I thought, been falling under the dirt, but had been falling back to sleep. I had been so afraid of being late for work that my subconscious mind had concocted that entire dream sequence in order to frighten me into wakefulness.

Wow, I thought, what an amazing mechanism the mind is. And then my next thought was: How come my mind is not that amazing and creative when I'm awake?  How come when I'm awake it just travels around in circles like a broken record, playing the same old thoughts again and again inside my head?

But wait.  Maybe knowing what the dream meant is, if not creative, at least insightful.  Except that right now I don’t know if knowing what the dream meant means anything at all.  Opps!  There goes that monkey mind of mine again going around in circles like a broken record, record, record.
My memoir, Dear Elvis, is available at amzn.to/2uPSFtE