Tomorrow would have been my king’s seventh birthday. There is nothing to be done. As they say in Al-Anon, let go and let god. Let god take the breath out of your lungs. Let him strangle you, as you take your vitamins in the morning. Let him bruise your arms, as he holds you still.
My very survival has always depended on the ability to identify my vulnerabilities. It isn’t hard to stay soft these days, because it is all I am. I cry as I drive to work. I cry on the drive home. And if I close my eyes, I see my boy sitting on the hill with the gnarled tree. I try not to create castles and fantastic things out of cigarette smoke. I do not want to smile, fearful this will move me away from his ghost.
I have adopted another dog. I do not want him, reject him when he begs for attention, ignore him when I can. I have named the thing Diego. Once he is house trained, I will gift him to my father. It seems he is having a difficult time dealing with my hellhound’s passing. They did, after all, spend most weekends together.
This act of kindness, it draws out my patience. Diego is nothing like my beast. He is a needy creature, disgusting and loud. There is no beauty to him, no grace. Though it has only been a day, I long to be rid of him.