I’ll Be Seeing You

“They [feelings] are chaotic, sometimes painful, sometimes contradictory, but they come from deep within us. And we must key into those feelings and begin to extrapolate from them, examine them for new ways of understanding our experiences.” –Audre Lorde
 
Beguiled by a garbage truck, Valiente—the leader of the Little Yellow Dog Gang—hurtled into traffic after it, barking insults.
 
“No!” I shouted, so he and Beatrice turned back toward me…
…into the path of a little sedan.
 
My empathic Bod cringed in anticipation of impact…
…and nothing. No collision, no contact.
 
Happy happy joy joy.
 
We resumed our walk, stopping at the water spigot, dodging uniformed students and police at the secondary school, staying in the shade. Finally we parted at the boatyard (resident dogs are not fans of the LYDG), and I climbed aboard Habibi and sat. Caught my breath. Blended a pear-apple-grape-banana-arugula-almond milk smoothie. Meditated. Wept.
 
Many years ago, my malamute mix was not so lucky. Emmett was playing in the middle of the street down the block with the neighborhood boys, a regular occurrence. Football? Catch? Something with a ball.
 
It was late afternoon, close to dinnertime, and I was done with work. So I whistled to him from the grassy verge in front of the cottage, about 100 meters away. We had a special signal, seven notes. And he came running, as usual. 
 
At the same time a little sedan motored down the street, unbeknownst to Emmett. I saw the accident before it happened, but couldn’t stop it. The car hit him in the shoulder, he bounced, then continued running toward me.
 
Shocked, we were, the boys and I, and surrounded him, but Emmett skipped about happily (his secret name was Joy). I looked him over, head to tail, then allowed the car to carry on. We walked home carefully, my eyes and ears on him for the least little sign of pain or injury…

…and nothing. No limp, no blood, no sign of distress.
 
So I didn’t take him to the vet, which I regret. Though regret is not a strong enough word: shame, remorse, grief—those will do. I rarely visit doctors or hospitals, and the habit spilled over to my animals. Friends and lovers, too, if I’m honest; I tried to talk them out of it. But years later I wondered: is that when the sarcoma started? A few rogue cells rearranged?
 
As with my baby brother, much later I knew something was terribly wrong with Emmett. But I believed desperately that This can’t be happening! How will I cure, mend, fix my beloved? Distraught and powerless to alleviate their agony. 
 
Despite Denial, both came under the care of proficient, compassionate doctors. At four, I visited Johnny in the hospital (snuck in underage: Why is he in a crib? He’s a big boy!). And at 44, a vet crooned “Tura Lura Lura” during Emmett’s x-ray, which my mother sang every night when I was young.
 
Know what the lyrics mean? Goodbye, I’ll be seeing you. 
 
Apt.
 
Devastated to see them go.
 
Now I know they didn’t.

Books:
Diary of a Reluctant Traveler: 15 months on the road from coast to coast to coast—solo
Sea Change: stories & splashes
Shoulds are for Saints: the true life adventures of Suzy Le Speed
Dance First …ask questions later: poems & paintings