Creek Running North

Yeah, nasty feeling. Bad week all ‘round, pretty much. Damn, etc.

Just mind where you puke.

hold on tight.  it’s ok to yell.  xoxoxo

I’m sorry if the climb doesn’t seem like it was worth it now, but, for what it’s worth, eventually you’ll get past the fall and see the whole thing in perspective and be glad for the climb and the view from on high.

Yeah, I know, H. And thanks for the reminder.

Today I’ve been pretty much playing the part of Jamie in the there will be more waves story. He figured that one out 30 years younger than I did. Pretty sharp kid.

Sometimes the fall doesn’t suck, Chris.  Sometimes it makes love stronger.

You know that I’ve lost a great friend recently.  The awfulness of what took him was eclipsed by his strength and grace in the face of his struggle.  I’ll always have that magnificent memory in addition to all the others.

Sure, it sucks (as someone wrote to me), but how people and their friends deal with the inevitable is more important than the inevitable itself, I think.

And you and Zeke are dealing with it in a way that’s inspirational to the rest of us.

It doesn’t feel worth it at all

Bears repeating ad nauseam. It will feel worth it for the rest of your life. So well worth it there are no words to say how well worth it it is.

The fall isn’t the hardest part. This is the hardest part - anticipating the fall. But it’s over quick enough, and then you’re too busy hanging on to experience the same level of dread. This will all be a blur soon enough. When Zeke is at peace, he will again be a source of warmth and wonder for you.

As you know, I’ve just taken this ride, Chris. I’ve got nothin’ to add except that it’s okay. One of the great things about a dog’s love is that you get it all, but it ends sooner than you wanted it to, no matter how long or short the time. There’s probably some cosmic truth in there, but, at the moment, it’s just a fact to be dealt with. Which, at the moment, sucks. But it’s okay, because thinking it sucks is an appopriate response. It sucks. But it’s okay. Hang in.

I always feel that way. And then 10 minutes later, I want to ride again.

The price we pay for love is grief. Seems like an odd trade off, but there it is.

Thanks for writing about this Chris, your writing has been more beautiful than ever these past few days. 
I’ve noticed that I’m giving the winter birds at the feeder an extra scoop of seeds.

You are touching more lives than you will ever know.

Yes, true enough - as sure as the sun comes up each morning, there will be more waves.  When my grandfather was 90-something, he used to say, “It takes courage to grow old.” I was about 25 at the time and didn’t get the full meaning of those words.  At 50, having been on more than a few rollercoaster rides of my own, I understand.  Boy, do I understand. 
Hang in and hang on.

We can’t take the fall with you, Chris, but I hope it helps a little bit to know that many hands want to help break the fall, and we’ll all be here to help pick you up…

Hang on tight, my friend.

Chris,

Long-time reader, first-time poster.

No doubt I share the feelings of the many, many lurkers out there who have followed your blog closely for months, and learned from your wisdom and guidance, yet haven’t formally acknowledged just how significant an impact you’ve had on our lives.

Your Zeke posts are an instructions manual on how to love and live - which, as you’ve so beautifully shown over the past several months, really are the same.  Zeke has been blessed with a loyal, devoted and tireless companion.  We have been blessed to be a part of your relationship - and to learn from it.

Thank you for sharing your intimate feelings with us - you provide us with a vivid example of what it means to fight for those we love, and to seek to live in the moment as best we can, and we are so much the better for it.

Much love to you, Becky and of course, Zeke.

Oh, Chris.

Sometimes I think the capacity to love is one of the most beautiful, cruelest things we could have been given.  Like the world.

One thing about rollercoasters: there’s always another hill or loop ahead, as well as the falls.

For what it’s worth, in the days before and after Max left us, I really, really didn’t feel like running. But I made myself run, and somehow, I think it helped.

Reading between the lines, it sounds as if your long ride with Zeke is coming very, very close to the end.  The end of the ride will suck; the last part of the ride does suck. But you, and Zeke, had the ride, and nothing changes that or cancels it out.  The memories of the end will fade somewhat and the memories of the rest will sustain you.

I know that exact feeling that you describe so beautifully, the one that says that the ride hasn’t been worth it. But it does pass, and even now, you know at heart that it has been worth it, much more than worth it.

Hang in there, Chris. More people than can even be imagined are with you and Zeke in spirit right now.

I remember when my father was dying I could not believe the pain in my heart. I didn’t think I could endure that he would actually breathe his last breath, and that I would really never see him again. He did, and I endured. It’s coming on 15 years in march, and not a day goes by that I am not reminded of him. Here’s what I have come to know, the pain diminishes, but the love, all that love--not a drop disappears.

Contrasting views on the merits of the rollercoaster from Parenthood.

Grandma: I always wanted to go again. You know, it was just so interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together! Some didn’t like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it.

...

Karen: I happen to LIKE the roller coaster, okay? As far as I’m concerned, your grandmother is brilliant.
Gil: Yeah if she’s so brilliant why is she sitting in our NEIGHBOR’S CAR?

“You are touching more lives than you will ever know....”

Yes. Hang on, Chris.

My experience was what you are experiencing now is the worst part.  Soon an easeness (not easiness) will appear to take hold and start the healing, at least it did for me.

My heart goes out to you, your wife and your beautiful friend Zeke.

Sometimes, when a death of a true love is anticipated, it seems like ther eis NO WAY you can go on without that person. (Zeke is certainly a Person!)

But then when they leave you it feels natural and sort of OK (+grief, But still not AS devastating as you thought).

Don’t be surprised if you find that you have done a lot of grieving before the fact...that is how it was when my Mother died and also when my dog Rex died.

Chris, Becky, Surviving Rabbits:

While it’s widely thought that optimism is a generally better policy than pessimism, I’m not convinced, and even less when we’re talking the loss of someone we’ve loved deeply, i.e. them large-caliber, life & death, existential issues.

So in the spirit of a Truth in Advertising campaign, I’d like to get my $0.02 (CAD) in, which is: this is going to hurt, and hurt deeply, for the foreseeable future. I went through this last August with Kona (and Binks isn’t getting any younger either). Granted, it has lessened, but not by a whole heckuvva lot. A lot of folks understandably have trouble with the hurt, and the foreseeable future bit especially, and try to tell themselves, and anyone who’ll listen, that the hurt will lessen, or that some hitherto unimagined benefit will (eventually) accrue as a consequence of the suffering-that-is and the suffering-that-is-to-come. A.k.a., the optimism cure, religion, whatever. Apply sparingly.

Reading your notes on the near future for you & Zeke, I experience a visual echo of Anthony Hopkins about to remove his left hand at the end of Hannibal. Yep. It will. Zeke’s been worth it, of course, and he will continue to be, both for you and for those of us your record with him has touched. Your suffering honours him, by which I don’t mean to say you (or anyone) *has* to suffer… But the loss you are in the middle of will leave a big hole in your life. And it’s most definitely not ‘...just a flesh wound.’

And FTR, I’m personally grateful to have your story with Zeke to replace the emotionally manipulative legacy of Old Yeller that I grew up with. Zeke’s a *real* dog in an imaginary garden. Thanks again for that.

HTH.