dogs

rhythms.

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Life is both empty and full. It contains goodness beyond measure, even as I continue to swim through the challenges that each day offers.

As for Henry, ol hairy legs, this ragamuffin and companion extraordinaire…he has found his new rhythm in life. I follow his lead. He knows his place and it is with us. He is constantly finding comfort and happiness, despite all the changes in his life, and I surely do love that about him. People often oversimplify dogs and think that they are always, easily, just “in the moment.” I’m not so sure that is true. Henry has experienced his own deep grief in losing Carl. But watching him work his way through it has been a blessing each and every day.

We love you, Carl.

{originally published Feb 7, 2015}

over time.

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Not painting yet, but I am in the studio and it feels good. I used to tell Carl every single day how much I love this space. Even after everything, it is still true. This place has a goodness about it. It feels comforting and safe. There’s a loving quality resonating from somewhere deep within the structure of this old building. I can’t help but love Sundays here the best. My spirit is calmer. It’s quieter on the street outside, there’s less foot traffic and the quality of light always seems more golden, even on cloudy days. Over time, it is possible that I will do a lot of healing here.

I love you, Carl. When I’m here, I always feel you with me.

{originally published Jan 25, 2015}

good lord, show me the way.

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Stop. Drop. And selfie. + a black dog photobomb. A moment today that included a genuine smile.

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…and then Henry wanted in on the fun, too.

Nearly impossible to summarize the past few days…North Dakota, being on the road, the sunsets, the immense amount of work, the roller coaster of emotions, the amazing help, the late night trip home, the exhaustion, this day of gratitude…

I don’t know where to start and so I’ll start right here. With this moment on my kitchen floor. This moment when the Thanksgiving festivities were all over and we all missed Carl and I felt a little consumed by how many days ahead of me I have without him. I came home and put on his old flannel shirt. I was all alone and not knowing how I felt about that, but ended up smiling because my dog Ella attacked me with love and then Henry wanted in on the fun, too. Which leads us right here to the present moment.

And all the while I’ve had this song playing over and over and over in my head…for over a week. I dream it, I wake up to it, I hum it, I pray it, I fall asleep to it. I hear it while I drive or tend to tasks. Over and over it keeps playing like a song that Carl is sending me, just like he always used to do.

Good Lord, show me the way.

the thing is…

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Friendship. It is a miraculous thing. It’s been filling in the cracks where Carl’s earthly voice and body and love used to be. Henry and Ella are somewhat inseparable today. They’re also known as “HenryElla.” A name that somehow stuck when Carl and I would call them to come in from outside. We laughed at that because the combined name rolls off the tongue so nicely. smile emoticon They were always the last ones to come in…and, well, nothing has changed about that! My big dog, Louie, lays on the floor beside them. I’ve got a good four-legged crew. But what I also have is a tremendous human tribe, too. It seems cliche to write about it, but many times I have thought about what it would be like to be going through this without this kind of support. Carl and I were both people magnets, each in our own way. I sometimes had to laugh (and worry) about how full our life, together, might become. There have been times when I’ve tried running to the ends of the earth just to be alone, but people came looking for me anyway. There are other times when, because of the nature of my work, the feeling of solitude becomes overwhelming. It’s a Catch 22 and yet, somehow, this problem was solved by being in a relationship with Carl. We were there for each other in an easy way, always, in the quiet moments, in the busy moments, and all the moments in between. We were surrounded by loving friends and family and yet we enjoyed our time just the two of us, too. It was the best of all worlds, really. Amazing.

Last night I saw a friend who I haven’t seen in over 20 years and others who are willing to travel to the ends of the earth to be with me. Gifts like this just keep showing up. And then there is Carl’s people…his family, his friends, his employees. I’ve loved Carl’s family from the beginning, but now that love has deepened to the center of the earth and the width of the universe. Carl surrounded himself with good people and, really, he saw the good in everyone. He talked and texted more than anyone I’ve ever met. And so now…messages, phone calls, texts from Carl’s friends and family…oh, it is like gold to me. Please don’t stop. Eventually, I would have gotten to know all of these people. But now we’re left to do it on our own. Horse people, woods people, business people, family people, work people, church people, international people….SO many people populated Carl’s world.

I am grateful for it. And ol hairy legs, Henry…well, he is too.

Here’s a poem for all of us, from my friend, Britta…

The Thing Is …
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again. ~Ellen Bass

Peace and friendship. To all of us.

{originally published Nov 17, 2014}

henry

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Good morning, from Henry. It’s the first morning after Carl’s funeral and this space “in between” yesterday and forever is stretching out before me like a giant fog-filled ocean. I’ve been waking up at sunrise every day. Carl and I always tried to motivate each other to get up early. These first moments of the day are hard. The last ones are, too. I try not to move for as long as possible because, when I do, the reality of Carl’s physical gone-ness is sharp and raw. I pray that the dogs will keep sleeping. But they don’t. Louie, my Chesapeake, kisses my face with his big ol tongue until it makes it hard to breathe. Ella, my dumpster dog, stretches her graceful legs and white paws towards my heart, reaching her sweet nose for a kiss, too. And then there’s Henry. Carl’s dog who has been a part of my own dog family since the moment they met. Henry tips over on his side a little bit and then comes “the smile.” Anyone who has met Henry knows about his smile. He’s all teeth and grins and a stubby wagging tail. He creeps across the bed over me and the other dogs and whatever else is in the way and snuggles in close for belly rubs and kisses too. Just when I think I won’t be able to do it, something pulls me forward. The day feels brutal, but then there are these dogs. I attempt to lift myself up because this is equally hard on Henry and he needs me to help him, too.

Yesterday, before everyone else arrived at the church, I had time alone with Carl’s body. It felt good to be with him and break down in the way that I needed to, without anyone except my sister watching from several pews away. I cried hard, my head resting on the side of the casket. But after a little while I felt Carl’s presence and an incredible peace washed over me. Pretty soon I noticed that a soft smile had crept across my lips. As difficult as this is, I know it was meant to be. I brought Henry with me to the church because something inside of me knew that he needed this closure as much as me. Henry got to say goodbye to Carl, too. It was beautiful, really. And afterward, Henry laid down on a church pew next to me, head and all, and I saw and felt his body get washed over with that same incredible peace that I had experienced too. He tipped over for a belly rub and we both felt a calm as though both of us were being held by Carl’s love. Neither one of us moved from that spot for a long time.

I am so grateful that Henry was not in the car with Carl that night. Henry and Carl were INSEPARABLE and so it is a miracle that, for some reason, Carl left him at home. I have seen the car and I know without a doubt that Henry would not have survived that wreck. But here he is. Finding moments of happiness in cheddar cheese and snuggles with my other two dogs and trying to bring frozen horse turds in the house from outside.

Carl was a 6′ 5″ gentle giant. Henry is a 6.5″ Popeye-like little renegade. Henry’s personality is as big as Carl’s. I love that little dog and somehow, someway…we are just gonna have to try to help each other through this.

{originally published Nov 15, 2014}