As the blue curtain of night falls on this New Years Day, a steady rain plinks upon the metal landing outside our second floor windows. The occasional swish of tires on the street reminds me that I’m not alone.
Far from it.
In the next room, my wife, Susan, snoozes on the bed, her head turned to one side. Her left ear is cupped skyward, a satellite dish receiving the low tones of a podcast about Watergate’s Saturday Night Massacre. God bless her; she finds voices soothing, no matter the content.
Our Lilly, the Boston terrier, is curled up at Susan’s hip, the contours of her head and body rising and falling beneath the afghan like a small world giving birth to itself. Together, Susan and Lilly resemble an arrow being drawn back on a bow.
Before it is even released, the arrow hits me where I live.
Much of what transpired personally in 2020 was inconvenient and unpleasant. Had I fallen a bit harder off the back of that U-Haul truck or hit my head a few millimeters to the left or right, I may very well not be able to appreciate or convey the scenes I now describe to you.
Through it all, the one constant was my immediate, nuclear family; mommy and daddy and fur-baby making three.
By choice, we have no human sons or daughters with whom to share our joys and pratfalls, our sorrows and triumphs. But, we have each other — and Lilly.
Lilly may never be able to understand my musings on reinventing myself in retirement or advise Susan about her special-needs clients. According to some animal psychology “experts,” she will probably never exceed the cognitive limits of a three- or four-year old. But Lilly perceives and processes our host of moods. She reads our furrowing brows, our trills of excitement and sighs of relief — and almost always offers just enough of herself at just the right time.
Some human parents expect their children to care for them in their old age. Sadly, in my former life as a medical speech pathologist, I’ve seen the opposite scenario played out far more often.
Lilly may not be there to place a loving paw upon our withering hands as our lives slip away. But, up until now — including this peaceful New Years Night — she’s taking plenty good care of us.