The Kids Aren't The Same

To the artist HS Chang-Tsai -- please accept my appreciation and thanks for your art. I did not know of it until a package sent from you arrived at my home. It was a curious thing, to receive a package from a stranger. I opened it and, on seeing the print of a Shiba Inu looking skyward while the moon laid on the left corner, began to cry. My best friend had purchased the print and a pad of sticky notes. It was her way of showing sympathy for the loss of Ryu, my Shiba Inu and adventure partner.  Ryu lived for 15 years. 12 of those years was with me. He was a constant companion. I often joked that he was my soul mate. Sometimes, it was not a joke. Ryu passed away a month ago. It has been six weeks and I still cry when thinking about him.  Today, I placed your print into a frame. My boyfriend asked where I would put it. I immediately said that it would go onto the desk of my home office. I wanted to see it as much as possible. But after a moment, I reconsidered the decision as a ...

I have the profoundly unhappy responsibility to write the news that Ryu Inu passed away on August 24th. He was in my arms when he trotted over the Rainbow Bridge.  Some of you knew of Ryu's recent diagnosis of kidney failure made earlier this year, just shy of his 15th birthday. His prognosis was quite good, although our veterinarian made clear to me at the time that his at-home treatments would only manage the situation rather than cure it. At the same time, his cognitive abilities worsened over the summer. His eyesight was going dark and his ears were falling quiet, making the recognition of his surroundings very difficult. It was funny the first few times that I found him stuck behind a toilet or closet door. It quickly stopped being funny as the plainness of his growing helplessness became clear. Overall, his body was telling anyone who could see it that it was saying goodbye. I had no idea it would happen so quickly, as his condition worsened precipitously two weeks ago. Ryu w...

Patrick graduated from high school last week. I had been jazzed for the ceremony for a while. He stayed cloistered in his bedroom the morning of, getting his clothes and face just right. Senn High School put on a fun, outdoor, and socially distant event for everyone involved. Cars also moved slowly around the school grounds for those families who preferred to keep up their caution. I buzzed around the grounds just thrilled to chat with teachers, staff, and some other parents; in contrast, Patrick's demeanor was on par with any other Friday. Teenage cool is as alien to me as lunchables. Maybe he perked up after I returned home, free to socialize with his friends while far from the reach of his dad's camera.  That morning, while getting ready to get Patrick to his school he asked for my help with tying a necktie. I tied the one he wanted to wear around my own neck, intending to loosen it and then slip it around his own -- when it happened: I had a flashback. I remembered getting ...

I was not sad when I hung up on my mom. It was a FaceTime video call that started badly, moved into hostility, then ended with my disconnecting from it. Disconnecting from her. It was about time, even if a long time coming. Before Thanksgiving, my oldest brother sent an email to me asking for my new address. I ignored it and he didn't contact me again. For Thanksgiving, I took Patrick to our church so that he could participate in the volunteering of putting on a holiday dinner for 120 people. It went really well. The logistics seemed to fall into place more easily this year than the last. I stayed in the kitchen working the food with other church members. Patrick began at the industrial sink washing dishes with another person; then, when the event officially began, he moved to working as a server for the people seated at the table assigned to him. The time passed very quickly, with the end arriving a bit anti-climactically. The constant movement of people, dishes, and food did ...