Like A Phoenix (redux)

 The ache is still acute sometimes. I feel it in the quiet after dinner when I’m left to put away the food and clean the kitchen without company. I feel it late every night when the silence of the house settles in and I get ready for sleep, staring at the empty, flat side of the bed.

I still spend a fair amount of time looking back. Chris is on my mind every day still. It is not an exaggeration to say that nearly every waking hour I have thoughts and memories of him. There is still a lot of pining for my old life, what I fight myself to not consider my real life. After all, if my real life is over, and that life is indeed over, where does that leave me now? Am I not alive anymore? Is this my fake life? It doesn’t feel entirely comfortable yet and certainly not one of my choosing, that is for sure...

What am I supposed to do now? What should I do with these days right now? The pressure to make something of my time weighs on me.

As usual, my Phoenix helpfully reminds me to stay in the here and now. She frequently demands my attention as dogs do, and I credit her for saving me many times over from fretting over my purpose and the future.

I learn from Phoenix when I pay attention. Once, I literally saw how sustained looking back doesn’t serve her well. We were on a walk and she became distracted by a group of people behind us. Phoenix could not be dissuaded from watching the walkers and her neck craned to look over her shoulder in curiosity. As she walked forward with her head turned back, she smacked directly into our neighbor’s car. The kids and I laughed once we confirmed that she was just fine, but I filed this moment away as it held an important lesson for me…

That dog. She is funny. She is a live wire of enthusiasm and energy, eager to protect our home and her yard. One morning she leapt off my bed before 6:00 to howl wildly at a large turkey strolling across our street directly in front of her living room couch lookout. She quivered with excitement and her voice cracked mid-howl as that tom spread his magnificent feathers as if to taunt her. Later that same day, Phoenix and I were playing fetch when a hawk flew overhead. She immediately tensed her muscles, looked skyward, and let loose a howl that was only slightly distorted by the tennis ball still in her mouth. In the dead of night, she wakes me with her doggie nightmares accentuated by whining, shaking, and mini howls. During the day, when I would sometimes like to work uninterrupted, Phoenix assertively pushes her snout under my arm so I cannot type. Often, she will then put her front paws on my lap and further escalate the interaction by moving her paws up to my shoulders so I am forced to turn away from the computer for a full body hug and slobbery kisses.

Phoenix can also be mellow, enjoying afternoons curled tightly into a ball of sweetness next to one of her people. She anticipates bedtime and chooses a person to snuggle for the night, and if it had not been me, she often “asks” for me from a kid’s room hours later.

Last night the other side of my bed was not unoccupied. My daughter was settled into Chris’s old spot with a cadre of stuffed animals. She still finds it a treat to sleep with me and when she asked on a vacation night, I readily agreed because I know these days are numbered. It was a regular girl’s night with that 65-pound coonhound mix cuddled between us. It was every bit as crowded and cozy as you might imagine, with the dog and girl alternately resting directly on me as they both took deep and slow sleep breaths.

In the wee hours, I woke and couldn’t get back to sleep immediately. Phoenix was still right up by our heads, so I stroked her silky ears a while. In her sleepy state, she rolled on her back for a belly rub; I could see her long legs sticking up ridiculously as I petted her tummy and chest. Eventually she tired of my attention and stood up, did her signature full body shake, then strode to the end of the bed for more room and privacy. She began that animal routine of turning around several times before lying down. She paused unexpectedly in her circling. Just as my brain was forming the question of why, Phoenix burped loudly. She then circled once more, harrumphed as she flopped down onto the bed, and nudged me even closer to the edge.

I shook my head in the dark and laughed.

No, this is certainly not the life I had and loved.

This is the life I have now, and it is full of many good moments and much love.

Like a phoenix, I am rising from the ashes. There is no other option but to take steps forward and make a new life, bit by bit. I am doing it.