And So We Swim
A Dedication to Athena and Gaia.
I begin here in that gray area between a heart-breaking end and a confusing new beginning. Why is that we all know we’re all going to die, but somehow it still finds a way to surprise us? Even when my Rottweiler mix, Athena, turned 15, I joyously celebrated her. She was looking amazing her for age, shocking every stranger we told. I proudly paraded her down neighborhoods smiling at her charming trot. “She’s got a few more years!”
That voice wasn’t certainty. It felt like it in the moment, but maybe that’s the trickery of fear and attachment. You want it so bad you convince yourself it must be true. It must be. Look at the evidence. I’d been feeding both my girls, Athena and Gaia, home cooked meals for a decade. They looked happy, they were active. Sure, Athena had slowed down, but at 15 what dog doesn’t? She was just aging gracefully. She still had more aging to do. She needed to start her slow old-lady walk, the limp walk with the bad hips, and the I-can’t-walk-anymore wagon pulling walks. I was already preparing for the kind of wagon I’d get, the types of cushions I’d put in, and the blanket I’d pack for us to sit on at the beach. I imagined myself carefully lifting her out of the wagon and setting her on her luxury cushion at the beach, and her tail doing a delicate old lady wag. Just the tip of the tail attempting a spiral. She might not have been able to walk, but we were going to catch some cool sunsets.
Her favorite thing to do was go to the beach and chase ducks. She’d swim far past the buoys, looking like a mere spec of dirt in the distance, sometimes completely unseen. The ducks would do their thing, letting her chase them then at the very last second, diving under water and popping up behind her. The way she’d swim faster, concerned she’d lost them, then swimming in circles confused and excited to see where they’d pop up. Sometimes she’d be out there for 45 minutes straight just letting the ducks lead her on. She loved a good chase!
But the biggest joke is on me as I chase her, her and Gaia. The biggest magic trick of all. No matter how many circles I swim in, they’re not popping back up. They’re not waking me up with barks, or paw slaps to my face. They’re not bullying me for food. No matter how many dog beds I look at, they’re not sleeping there. No matter how many times I clink my keys, their leashes, or their bowls, they’re not running to me with their big happy smiles. And yet still I do it. I still look for them, hoping they’re just underneath something I’ve missed. Maybe if I just swim faster.
Grief is exhausting. We all know there are a few things in life that are certain, like death and taxes, and yet we still fight it, unwilling to accept. Maybe because somewhere in our hearts we know there’s more. We know this can’t really be the end. Or maybe that’s the trickery of our fear and attachment?
And so here I begin to paddle, lost at sea without my life jackets.
