The Pack Is Still Standing

“They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it. Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still” – William Penn

I stopped counting the days since she’s been gone. It hurts. It hurts a hell of a lot. It took me a while to quit looking for her in my rearview mirror every time I went on a hike with Merlin. I kept thinking I’d see her with him in the back seat. She’s a phantom and I miss her more than I can stand sometimes.

I watch Merlin sleeping sometimes. Lately he’s been wagging his tail while he’s dreaming. I like to think he’s with her in those moments – that he’s found her somehow. I know he misses her, too. I am trying so hard to pull myself together for his sake. Grieving dogs need to know that the pack is still intact. It’s okay, hound. The pack is still standing.  

We mourn. We howl. We heal and move on. Its okay, hound. I'm still here. 

Everything in my life is changing. I’m settling in to a new job. I’m looking for places to live and have realized that it is extremely difficult to find a place in or around Portland. The listings are filled in a second. As it stands, it looks like I’m going to have to move really far out for something affordable and then I’ll absolutely have to find a roommate to offer a discounted rent to because I’ll need someone to help with the hound if I have an hour commute each way for riding my bike. Dang.

I’ve only just started looking. I won’t be too discouraged at this point. Perhaps something miraculous will happen and Ava and the hound will find the perfect spot. The pack is still standing.

Yeah . . .  That's pretty darn close.

 

Someone in my life that I thought I could always count on made it their personal mission to wound me deeply. It was repeated attacks on my character and anything of any importance in my life at all. The only thing I catch myself thinking is, Why? What on earth have I done to you to deserve this? I am now asking myself if this is someone I want in my future. I don’t know the answer, so I’m giving myself time.

The unconditional love of a dog is arguably one of the most comforting things in this world. 

 The pack is still standing. We’re going to be okay. I have to stare into my reflection and remind myself that I’m still standing sometimes. There have been so many wonderful things in my life, I just want the ugliness to go away so I can enjoy the beautiful things for a while.

Speaking of beautiful things, I’ll be returning to tango soon. I’ve missed it. Actually, I’ve really needed it – particularly when scenarios in my life are so dark and painful. I’ve always prided myself on my intuition when it comes to the pain of others because I don’t want them to suffer. I received that favor in turn this morning. A friend offered to talk and reminded me that tango holds us sweetly. It really does and there’s something so very beautiful and healing about it.

The tango embrace. This is what bliss looks like. 

I’ve always thought I’m fairly good at masking how much I’m really hurting. I’ve either convinced myself of a blatant lie or I have the privilege of knowing someone who sees pain in others like I do . . . . I think the dead giveaway was the fact that I was playing with my facebook profile at 3 am this morning and there was a photo with a lone wolf. I wonder what sort of emotions and symbolism these lovely creatures evoke in others. Since I first met my she-wolf, in some other dimension in time, I’ve always seen the wolf as a companion and protector. The pack is still standing.

A friend told me once that she didn’t need to watch soap-operas because I practically live one. She’s right. I don’t know how it happens, but pain and grief and drama find me more frequently than I care to admit. Maybe someday I’ll write a book about what feels like an endless saga, or perhaps the soap opera days will eventually end. However, be it pain, grief, or a soap opera life, the pack is still standing.

On second thought, a book might be a bad idea . . . . because much like this picture, none of these soap opera events make any sense. 

“My grief and pain are mine. I have earned them. They are part of me. Only in feeling them do I open myself to the lessons they can teach” – Anne Wilson Schaff