Care


Dear Eugene,

Sumi has a major stomach upset this morning.  Even now she is not eating, not even drinking.  I put on my nylon track suit and pants so that her shed hair won't turn me into a sasquatch when I held her tight for a long time, probably the longest ever, my face on her back, two fetal positions formlessly entwined, and it's in this unexpected stillness that I thought about her birthday and tried hard to not miscount her years.  On my lap she wasn't looking out the window like usual, the disturbance within shut off that from without.  Then I walked her again, every step tentative, mine matched hers so, and led her to the two most untidy lawns of the block where she could feed on annual meadow grass to induce a vomit and gave out two and that took another hour.  Thank God for using even an overgrown of bad element to create and save.  Thank God for no rain this morning and the sun actually came out now and Sumi bathing under it after the third walk and her first sip of water.  But I still don't know what is happening to her and happening still.  I am relentless when it comes to things I care about, my thanksgiving more like a way to curb my hunger for quick fix.  Is God relentless too, caring so much, caring for all?  How does the autumn sun stay easy when the world is full of dis-eases?

Yours, Alex

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  1. KateOctober 25, 2018 at 2:25 AM

    Dear Eugene,

    “How does the autumn sun stay easy when the world is full of dis-eases?"

    In a fracture of today’s early morning routine, I forgot to leash my 9-year-old maltese, Sugie, when we left the house for our brief walk. Without care, she lurched forward as if propelled by the novelty of freedom, her every pace carefully directed away from my cares. From a few footsteps behind, I traced her miniature silhouette against the expansive backdrop of predawn. Her gleaming, white hair swayed with conviction, parting the damp foliage on concrete pavement to bare an unchartered path for me to tread in tandem.

    I wondered if she knew that she was privileged, more so than most of her canine peers scouring for any morsel of food, justice or care on desiccated lots. Did she recall her 3-leg Mom named by the breeder as Little Foot in memory of her amputated hind leg from trauma that led to her caged life solely for breeding? Would Sugie want me to hold her again as tightly as years ago for a long time, probably the longest ever, in twin fetal positions with my face on the coat of her spine after her full hysterectomy? Thank God for the photo of her surgically isolated, pink uterus placed on a stainless steel plate, a tribute of gratitude for her recovery.

    And thank God for Little Foot whose sad journey had crossed mine in her most generous gifting of life to me. The echoes of the heart would morph into a lifelong symphony.

    Within a minute passed, my beloved 4-leg angel was scurrying towards the edge of the block, her “every step tentative, mine matched hers so”. More than twice I called her but she did not seem to care, her legs blurring in motion even more so towards risks unknown. Was she responding instinctively, willingly? Thank God for my arthritic knees which could still enable me to pursue her. Thank God for my aging body & wounded heart being healed by choosing to care more relentlessly & relent from careless steps.

    Yours, Kate


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