Here we are in the next to the last day of the year and while I plan for what is ahead, Im also looking back and taking inventory of our experiences. Last year the big thing was facing up to Atticuss cancer, the amputation, and his chemotherapy. This year it was coming full circle with Will and helping him reach where he needed to be when we said goodbye to him in late October after nearly two and a half years with Atticus and me. As I sit typing this I smile and realize how fortunate Will and I were to experience what we did together. There was heartbreak on my part in the last week leading up to saying goodbye to him, but since then its been smiles and warm recollections of what is possible when friendships form and the word yes is the only word that matters when facing whatever life throws at you. People still come up to me, or write to me, and offer their condolences and mention how they know Im heartbroken. They are surprised when I tell them thats not me at all. I understand people all handle death differently, but I have faith in what matters is how we live, understand there is an expiration date on pretty much everything other than love, and I know as much as I touched Will, he also touched me. Thats nothing to mourn. Someday I may share with all of you the video I made during our next to the last day together. Will and I were in an Adirondack chair in the backyard. He was sitting upright, like someone on Santas lap. I had the camera on the opposite chair arm facing him, his bright eyes, his elegant lashes, and black button nose. Because he couldnt hold his head up he was resting it on my chest, where my heart is. I talked to Will about death, and what could possibly come after. What I told him was pretty much one never knows. I wont play it now because of my colorful language in talking about certain clichés of dogs and death people use, something that has always made me want to bang my head into the nearest wall. Instead of clichés, I prefer the mystery of it all and told Will at one point, There are a lot of people who tell us where we are going to end up when we die, Will. But heres what I prefer to embrace: the grand mystery of it all. I cant tell you what will happen to you tomorrow after we say goodbye. Heck, I cant tell you whats going to happen to me after we say goodbye. Life is like that. But I do know that as long as I live, my words and photographs of you are around, that you will always be connected to this world. I also told Will hed be helping thousands upon thousands of animals in this world by the choices he made in the last two and a half years of living. Someday, hopefully, there will be a hospice farm for many of the Wills in this world - those with two and four legs. Already many other Wills have been adopted into homes because of him. And in the hours after I said goodbye to Will in the meadow on the side of Iron Mountain, a memorial fund in his name was announced at the Conway Area Humane Society and their website exploded within a few minutes when 27,000 people were moved to log on to make a donation. Because of the crash a much smaller portion donated but still the fund almost reached $20,000, which is a huge deal for our local shelter, where Will is never to be forgotten. I dont really think much about dead Will. I think about living Will and how he struggled, then thrived, and then found his way home and ended his journey in a glorious explosion of love and emotion the vast majority of us will never see. To live to such an extent to inspire others - well, that is life that continues on. People often ask me if Atticus and I will be adopting again. Not for right now. This is Atticuss time. He sacrificed much so that Will could have a good life and now its his time to have it just be about us. The other night, as Ursa Major rose over the rim of trees in a nearby lake and Atticus and I sat on a mountain under a canopy of whirling constellations, I stopped gazing overhead just long enough to look at him sitting there. He was as he always has been on high, relaxing with a deep sigh, and casting his eyes out to capture all that is out there and seemingly all that is within us as well. If the farm comes along sooner rather than later, the first animals will not be other dogs, but farm animals. I think thats fairest to Atticus, who has always been kind to other dogs but doesnt really care about them all that much. He was sweet and patient to Will but once Will left, it was Atticus being Atticus again, where he seems to think his job description entails looking after me and little else. Other than that he fills himself up with his soul work when we are out in nature and hes watching animals or leaves or clouds and rivers and distant peaks fading to blue near the horizon. This video is of Will the first summer he was with us. He was learning to play again and use his hips again and frolic and trust. His biting was getting better and he didnt do it as much. He was still getting used to riding the peace train and understanding he could be whatever he wished. This is how I think of Will now and it makes me laugh and smile and I think to myself, or say aloud to him, We did it, my friend. We did it. Thanks to everyone who was kind to Will over the past. Thank you for the blankets and flowers and the good wishes and the donations in his name. As I wrote to my friend Elizabeth the other day, Im restless these days, in a place knowing that the next adventure awaits, but its still not quite here yet. As for what it will be? Well, its a lot like I told Will that day in the backyard, right before he left us: Its the grand mystery that makes life worth living. Onward, by all means, everyone. Tom
Posted on: Tue, 30 Dec 2014 16:32:47 +0000
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