Love, Life and Puppy Dog Tales

  I wrote this in 2013. 10 years ago.  I have come to realize that grief isn't linear, doesn't hold to a timeline, and most certainly doesn't have a script.  ------ As much as you don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to say either.   I am 45 and now both of my parents are gone.   I lost my father in September of 2007, and my mother last night. Funny they were both 84 when they died.   People react differently to people who have lost someone.   You don’t know what to say.  You don’t know how to act.   Reactions vary.      “I am so sorry”  “Is there anything I can do?” They share their own grief story. “Are you going to be ok?” “How are you doing?” And how do I respond to the I am sorry’s and the What can I do’s?  I truly don’t know. I am struck with the need to make you feel better … to make sure you don’t feel bad.    From my perspective, I don’t know what to say.  I don’t know how to act.  I don’t know what is okay to say or how to say it.   Is it ok to cry?  Should I

  My Time in the ER: The Healthcare System is Broken Heading to bed, I feel the familiar pains.   The gallbladder pains.  Usually, they subside, but not tonight.  By 1am, I am in tears, asking my wife to take me to the hospital.  Worse than it has ever been, I know I need intervention. 2-15-2023 0218: Admission to the ED There is a strict no-visitors rule here. Unless I am a child or a dependent adult, I am on my own.   I am promised that once I am put in a room in the ED, my wife can join me.  Triage is simple.  All my vitals taken, I am sent to a chair to wait. To try to take my mind off my pain, I observe the room.  A large handful of people are waiting.  Two mothers with children who have already been seen are waiting in the waiting room for diagnostic test results.  Others still are waiting to be seen.  0251: Portal I, along with another patient, move to a room called a portal.  I walk. He was already in a wheelchair.  I am told to sit in any of the chairs in the room.  There’s on

The gentle music of the chimes just outside the door is soothing.  It also makes me feel nostalgic.   Previously, I hated windchimes.  It was senseless noise that my brain always wanted to turn into a melody but never could.  It would cause frustration and make me shut the window or door to try to tune out the noise. Not now.  Not with this windchime.  A gift given to us in remembrance of Caliber, the random tune it periodically plays is a reminder of Caliber.  Caliber was a talker.  From an early age, she shared her voice and we hoped it would stay a part of her.  She'd make us laugh when she interjected into a conversation, and I suppose that reinforced her desire to share her opinion.  Rarely did her voice rise to a 'yell' - a bark.  It was always a growly, sometimes sing-song type sound.  She'd be laying on the bed, seemingly asleep as we chatted away about our day.  Quietly there'd be a noise that would emanate from her.  She needed her beauty sleep, and we wer

Recently after a class I was teaching at a conference, a friend who was in one of the classes that I taught took a moment to ask me a question. You and Kristi are married, right? Yes, yes, we are, I replied. Then why did you refer to her as your 'partner' in the class today?  I thought for a moment and finally said that for me it seemed to be a comfort level thing.   It depended on the audience.    She seemed to understand and let it go, but it has since swum around in my head, churning up my thoughts on the matter. To a degree, I felt as though she had caught me in a lie.  Kristi is my wife.  Why wouldn't I refer to her as such?   As I delved deeper into my thoughts on this, I realized that some things I thought about myself aren't true.  One:  I am not as comfortable with my sexuality as I thought I was.  Extrinsically anyway.  Two:  I don't feel as safe in this world as I thought I did.  The second realization is the reason for the first thought

My coming out story is violent. It involved punches, blood, fear, and rejection. A rejection that changed the trajectory of my life. My parents were great about it. My coming out process to them was just that… a carefully planned process. I intentionally introduced them to couples who were ‘normal’ - they had fabulous jobs and led a ‘normal’ life. It just happened that they were lesbian couples. Each introduction went swimmingly well. There were no side effects - no negative conversations after the fact indicating that my parents had been nice to their faces, but in fact, were pessimistic about the people and their ‘lifestyle.’ On the contrary, my parents were wonderfully positive about them. When I felt confident enough that I wouldn’t be rejected by my parents - and I had moved out and was living on my own, supporting myself - I visited my parent’s home and told them. Well… truth be told I told my mom and said she could tell my dad. Her response? “We’ve already talked about it.

In the days that follow, the grief ebbs and flows.  It's always unexpected.  What should bring tears doesn't.  Suddenly, the wave crashes over top of me, and tears flood the room. Around me, so many others are grieving the loss as if it were their own. Truth be told, it is their own too. After four years of therapy with "Dogtor" Raezor, they all had a connection with her. You couldn't help but connect with her.  That was her special gift.  As they offer their sympathies, they are also feeling the loss and I am finding myself saying the same words to them, trying to console them.  I feel bad because I don't have much I can give for I am consumed with the loss myself.  This is a first for me and I am uneasy with the feeling of my inability to help another. "The stupid, untrainable dog" was the best gift we could have ever been lucky enough to be blessed with.  She brought joy and light into a room. She could temper herself to her audience on instinct a