The Art of Losing
I can’t see her anymore, roaming the yard, looking for her favorite sunny spot on a cold day. Our little Dot, with her hopeful looking brown eyes, always on the lookout, ever-protective of Isabella since she was a wee one. She left on the tail end of 20 some-odd days of illness for us (sinus infections, bronchitis, flu), after suffering herself through joint and leg pain, and loss of mobility and desire. In this past month, we have all lost our desire, become humbled by both desperation and dependence, and are just starting to emerge. Maybe. I can still see and feel the way I have turned inside myself, helpless to help myself, my daughter, my husband, and ultimately, my dog. I also remember, being in the midst of this, holding fast, too fast--not letting go. One day, sniping at each other, I broke. I let go the anger, unleashed it, felt bad and good for it finally coming undone from me, being freed of its tyranny. Before this I’d realized dully that s...