Let's Poll the Audience

Author's Note: I am PMSing, so I reserve the right to let my writing be slightly more emotional than the usual fare.

This weekend I was in a parking lot and a lady drove by with her windows down. A tiny dog peeked out of the passenger window and a golden retriever stuck his little head out of the backseat. I have seen a good number of golden retrievers since Pele passed away, but this was unbelievable. This was IDENTICAL. Susie told me a few weeks back that her friend's family had a dog just like Pele and it had shaken her up. I stood frozen in the sidewalk (every passing moment upping the chances that I'd be mowed down and finish my life in in the parking lot of a Subway. eek). The dog grimaced, made this face of displeasure that Pele used to make when you did something that pissed him off (took away a toy while you were playing, etc.).

A feeling washed over me. I can't quite name it. Deep grief mixed with a huge dose of hope. I saw that dog and it felt like suddenly I knew that Pele wasn't "over". I had to check myself, run through my head and double check that he had actually died, that he hadn't been stolen. As much as I convinced myself (enough to continue the walk to my car), I felt like it was meant to be some sort of a sign to me that he continues to exist somewhere.

Needless to say, I haven't been able to get my mind off of him since. I scrolled down on my blog today to see if the post with his picture had been archived because I"m not sure I can stand to see it every time I open the site. Should I take down his picture on my fireplace mantel (a picture I placed there no more than a week before he died?)? I'm not sure. Part of me thinks it's good to remember him and part of me thinks maybe not just yet.

It's gotten past the point where I can really talk about it with people. Few of my close friends realize how hard his death hit me, that I think about it every single day, that I still cry when I write about it. In a world where things don't feel at all certain, I had just taken it for granted that he'd just BE there. I mean, where do dogs go? People go, but dogs? And people's deaths throw you for a loop, but a dog? And yet I find myself obsessing over this more than I have with most people who have passed away-- I'm having a hard time filing it away in my ever shifting concept of 'what happens next'. And simply put, I really miss him. I miss the safety I felt around him. I miss his innocence. I miss how when I'd play with his ears and pet his stomach I could forget just how fucked up the rest of the world is. I would tell my dad how Pele "is love". He just seemed like love embodied to me. So do I have to get another dog to feel that sort of love again?

And how disturbing is it that I got that love from a dog and not from a proper adult relationship?

Ok, glad I posted b/c now I got the tears out of my system. They've been aching to come out and now they did. Relief.

What I was polling the audience about what you do when you're sad. My personal quick fixes are:

-take a trip to my Top Secret Frozen Yogurt Location. Did this. I even mixed fruit punch and peanut butter yogurts for maximum effect. Nothing.

-listen to 80s music (be afraid that "you can call me Al" is blasting as I type this. Normally I hate this song but something about it feels very cheery to me, perhaps the horn section or a vague recollection of a Chevy Chase cameo in the music video?). Nada.

-read trash websites. I start with UsMagazine's blog and work my way (that's like the AP Wire), then you go to Mollygood, TMZ, etc. Usually reading about other people's dysfunctional lives will cheer me up even the slightest bit. But I don't even have it in me to rejoice at Paris Hilton finally being nailed for endangering the lives of anyone driving anywhere in LA (and oh how many lives that could be)

I even declined a wedding invitation, a law school reunion invitation, AND skipped working out. Sheesh. Apparently there just isn't always a cure for the blues.