Friday afternoon. I’d scanned my completed retirement paperwork to my computer. As my index finger hovered above the “send” button, my life’s major turning points streaked across the screen of my mind’s eye. The glorious. The painful. And — as so often comes with change — everything in between.
In that moment, a bittersweet bilge rose to my throat. I could not imagine life without my colleagues, friends and family any more than I could imagine remaining in a city where I feel no sense of community. Change is grand. And, it sucks. At approximately 2:38 P.M. Pacific Standard Time, I turned the page to the next chapter in my life.
Seven years ago I turned the page on another new chapter, but only after my wife opened my eyes to realities of our behaviorally-challenged dog. That change wrought the most excruciating pain I’ve ever known, but it opened the door for what was to come.
Following is another excerpt from my book, Louie to the Rescue: A Memoir of Surrender and Redemption. Thank you for reading.
. . . I unlock our front door and walk through. The air is thick and heavy as Hidden River, Florida, the summer I went to visit dad to end the first of our four estrangements. Louie sits quietly on his bed in the kitchen. He hardly stirs to my arrival and barely lifts his head to lick my hand hello. Susan rinses dishes. In the background a TV news flash reports that a swarm of locusts wiped out a staple crop somewhere in Southeast Asia.
Susan turns away from the sink to face me, her eyes wise and serene. She has weathered her own private pestilence, the news of which had still not completely coursed through the cable networks to my ears. Susan stands before me, a weathered shell of her former self. She had been picked clean, her crops reaped down to stubble. Yet she manages a weak smile, her lips pressed tightly together.
Earlier today, Susan had spoken to our homeowner’s insurance agent about how Louie’s latest bite would affect us; I am braced for skyrocketing rates or a canceled policy. This is news I can handle. We can always get another carrier, can’t we?
Susan takes my hand and walks me into the living room. We sit facing each other on the couch. The late-afternoon sun gleams off the blue-green tinted windows along the Sherman Oaks skyline.
“I called Nancy today,” Susan says. “She’s willing to take Louie back and get him the training he needs to overcome his biting and try to place him in another home.”
I stare beyond Susan. Laser-like lights bounce off the distant buildings straight into my eyes. Dark halos spin counter-clockwise - just like they did when I once stared at the sun. They remind me of pinwheels.
“He needs more space, my love. It’s not fair for me to have to worry about what’s behind every corner and it’s not fair for him to live with an iron cage on his face. It’s too sad.”
I break my gaze with blindness. My hand is nestled lovingly in Susan’s, but I’m numb to her touch. Outside, I am barely ruffled. Inside, I am a high-rise imploding. My heart bucks and gallops like an unbroken colt. Deafness descends. Susan’s lips are moving but no sounds come out. There’s no sirens blaring out the wordless message to “stop, drop, and take cover” like we did during air raid drills in grade school. I’m trying to surface from to the bottom of a deep pool. Arms desperately parting the water. Legs kicking behind. Watching the rippling surface get closer and brighter with each stroke. Breath must hold out. Just. A. Little. More. Until.
Breach! Gasp!
“We can’t keep Louie here anymore,” Susan says, her face strong and tender. “It’s a liability for us and a prison for him.”
“What about Elias?,” I plead, my lifeline slipping away.
“Oh, my love. Even if Elias can make a change, there’s always the chance that Louie could bite again. Elias can’t make any guarantees.”
Then let’s move! We’re talented professionals and can write out own ticket anywhere! We could move to a cheaper area and buy land! And, Goddammit! Why is Nancy’s guy suddenly available NOW!?
My defenses go unspoken. At best, they would inflict glancing blows at Susan’s monolith of truth; the words I’ve fought with all my heart. The words I’ve suspected were true all along, but wished they weren’t.
Susan and I sit in silence. Blood beats in my hands and I receive Susan’s velvety touch. Her thumb rolls over mine and I can almost feel our fingerprints trying to re-trace a new blueprint for family. I don’t even know what family means anymore.
Louie perches on his favorite spot: the alcove looking out over his Haskell Avenue domain.
Outside, a green leaf falls from a tree.
That’s not supposed to happen so close to spring . . .
To be continued . . .