Still Here

The opposite of a strong fortress is not flat land, it is the bombed-out crater left after it exploded. Poof, gone, no stable ground left to stand on, no refuge to be found. Chris’s gone-ness is like that. It is not just a quiet absence; the world is not just devoid of good but dramatically lessened without him.  Everything is significantly worse without him.

I miss him. I miss his eyes meeting mine with unspoken understanding. I miss always having him in my corner, and being firmly in his. Our comfortable partnership, our carefully co-constructed world - these are no longer in existence. The days are lonely without him and bleakly empty. My beloved person is gone and, along with him, my way of life has disintegrated.

I miss everything.

I miss him.

I miss.

I ache with the missing.

I cannot yet reimagine life. I don’t want a new life; I already had a life I loved, and I want it back. This is futility at its worst. So, I exist through the day and repeat it again the next, hoping that one day it won’t be so meaningless. Maybe one day I can imagine. Reimagine. Whatever the self-help word is.

And yet, there is one undeniable new thing. I did dream it up and execute the plan. There is now another being whose existence is entwined with mine, who looks specifically to me. Although it’s not even close to having a true partner, she brings more than a small measure of relief. Phoenix, of course. Sometimes she’s a nuisance and just one more responsibility, but when we go on our private adventures, that’s when magic happens.

As soon as the later school bus pulls up, Phoenix is curious. Are we going on a short walk or are we getting in the car? When I slide the door open, she jumps in, knowing it’s the good kind of walk. We drive the few miles to the state park and pull into the lot. It had been slick with ice after Christmas, but is now muddy and deeply rutted after an unseasonably warm stretch. Good – we are the only vehicle. I open the door, Phoenix bounds out. I grab her leash and attempt to close and lock the car before she pulls me off. Her nose is instantly to the ground. It’s annoying, she needs to sniff everything while I’m impatient to move. There’s a decent stretch of trail before the off-leash section, the good place.

We make our way up the long hill, then down. She drags me at times, and I pull her along at others. As we approach the footbridge and cross the stream, her excitement ticks up, as does mine, because we are almost there. Sit, Phoenix. Oh, she knows what’s to come, so she does. I unsnap the leash and she’s instantly off, reveling in her unbridled freedom.

Phoenix tears down the path and I admire her rippling, muscled backside moving away from me. She careens chaotically around a bend in the trail, just barely under control. She is a black blur, her long legs flying. Her dark body emits occasional flashes from the white patches on her feet. She darts from the trail deep into the woods. When I am not sure I see her, I whistle. I call. I wait. Eventually she comes barreling back, and, when I point to the ground in front of me, she nearly trips over those ridiculously long limbs in her eagerness to sit. She knows I am pleased, she knows she will be rewarded. She seizes the treat with vigor, but her teeth never graze my fingers.

I motion her on. Go! She looks at me – Are you sure? Go on, run ahead! She does.

We repeat this business many times as we log miles in the woods. I take in the stillness and am always happy when we don’t encounter others. I can breathe easily here, the quiet of the expansive forest and the companionship of my dog anchor me to the present moment.

Peace.

Eventually Phoenix is distracted by a scent, a stick, a questionable puddle she must drink from. She dawdles a bit, falling behind, then rushes to catch up. As she streaks past me, she lifts her nose to touch my hand ever so briefly.

I realize I am wrong - her movement is far from chaotic. Those exquisitely defined muscles and her zest for now propel her forward with effortless coordination. As Phoenix races ahead, her surefooted galloping leaves a lighthearted, rhythmic tune in my ears and drums a smile onto my face. Her graceful motion displaces air, a slight breeze that slides under my broken wings, generating lift. For a few minutes, I find levity.

I rise, like a phoenix from the ashes of everything I once had, loved, and lost.

Ahead, far up ahead, Phoenix slows to a halt. Her tail gently curves skyward, a question mark dotted by her head, turned back to search for me. Every inch of her body inquires - Are you there? Are you coming, my person?

Oh yes, my Phoen-bean, I am coming. I am here, baby girl.

I am still here.