Sharing The Couch
Posted on | August 3, 2009
He was there: Lying in complete obliviousness while I stumbled in the darkness. But he’s not there, is he?
Nope.
I have the couch to myself but it’s not what I want. He would park his fat-assed carcass there and I’d have to work my legs around him.
Not that it’s a bad thing. Not that it’s a good thing.
It is what it is.
I’ve been told I’ll get over this in my own time. I should stop whining and complaining. People - animals; leave you. It’s life.
I lost my Mother.
Why is this so much harder?
My Mom: Now I could rationalize that. I could compartmentalize. I could put it in this place of acceptance in which I was comfortable.
But losing my pet. My kid…
I’m not comfortable now. My skin itches and no back-scratcher will help.
And yes, he was my kid cause I’ll never have my own. Nieces and nephews; friends, kids and the like: He was my own.
I shouldn’t react this way.
I’m becoming foolish; silly, aren’t I?
The old lady with 47 cats that we mock.
But he was so much in my life and letting him go is so fucking hard.
I wish it wasn’t.
I WISH it were easy but it’s not. It’s fucking hard and you know to be honest I can’t see past it, right now.
I know, believe me, I know it’s ONLY been two weeks and two days, I’ve counted them; every painful minute. I should be past this but I just can’t. There are just too many reminders.
There are those who would say, “Two weeks? It’s a fucking dog! Get over it!”
There are small moments when I think of him.
Seeing white/fine dog hair on the bus seat beside me. A combination of his mix, lettered by a homeless man. A posted note that teases me to believe - though I saw his breath leave his body - he’s alive.
Why can’t I get past this?
It’s been too long now. It’s been two weeks1 and two days but it’s been a lifetime and I STILL look for him lying on the couch.
Pissing me off.
Frustrating me.
I miss him. I miss the sheer aggrivation walking him in the rain.
I tell other dog owners of my loss and I can sample their sympathy; like Rhianna using a Michael Jackson chorus for a song but to be honest - NO ONE UNDERSTANDS.
They can’t.
They can have the same experiences as me and they do, I KNOW that. I don’t have the same experiences as they do. The feeling of being needed when the front door is unlocked. They get the whole world of letting their “chile” go. But do they REALLY know?
Do they?
I’m a single guy. I come home alone; not to a paramour or child - to a Grand-fathered house hold.
And too the cat owners, PLEASE take this with the grain of salt that is hidden in the salve. A cat is SO independant. I had someone who needed me. And yes, YES, of course your cat needed you but Rufus…
I said earlier…I just don’t feel like anyone understands. And that sounds arrogant, selfish and insulting and it’s not meant too.
There is the old saying. You own a dog. A CAT owns you.
And it’s true. Being a former cat owner. My cat didn’t need me. Cordellia was her name. After the ‘faithful’ daugther from King Lear. But Rufus, he NEEDED me. And now I don’t feel so needed. It’s really the emptiness that echoes…
It’s not self-pity. It’s an absolving, really.
It isn’t a shedding of old skin that persueds me to speak frankly.
I just feel so alone.
This is nothing new or sacred to those who’ve lost a pet/child.
I just feel so alone.
Remembering every time I dimssed him. Every time I ran away from responsibilty - I’m sorry.
Was I good pet owner?
I had my moments.
But why is it I remember every failing?
Just remembering every failure is hard.
This isn’t so much self pity as it’s an exorsism.
A cleansing of the palate; like divorced wine chased with a bread stick and a spit bucket.
I just miss you Rufus. Two weeks and two days later, I still miss you.
You defined me so much.
Made me feel like I was important - needed.
Thank you for giving me that. I’m sorry if I failed you.
I have to let you go.
I wish I could…
Damn…
Let me go…PLEASE.
- ONLY and THAT’S ENOUGH [↩]
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2 Responses to “Sharing The Couch”
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August 4th, 2009 @ 11:02 pm
You have an amazing grasp of the written word. My heart goes out to you,
losing Rufus, to put that into words… reminded me of when I lost my dog.
Time heals all wounds they say, but I’m forever peeling back the scab. Keep
your chin up and keep writing. Big hugs
Fred
August 4th, 2009 @ 11:19 pm
Fred, Thank you so much for writing and your kind words. You too seem to have a gift with the written word.
I love what you said, “forever peeling back the scab.” Very powerful image and very true.
Went to the park today with my sister and her family and there was this one dog, I tell you: Not much of a poodle fan but this was a mixed breed and I just fell in love.
He came over to me and just wouldn’t leave my side. Crawling under my leg, snuggling, licking my face. Then another kind of dog a mix that I didn’t even get the name of was all over me.
I felt like a Mother lactating, I was just so lost without Rufus. I told the woman with the poodle mix to leave because in two more seconds I was ready to run away with her dog.
Again, Fred, thank you so much. Your post really made my day.
much,