This last summer involved a large amount of just living and learning about life, myself, people, and bullcrap. I've been an avid learner, rolling with whatever strange things life throws at me. It's been challenging, exhilarating, painful, telling, but nonetheless... lovely.
However, there were some dark moments I had faced and as a result of that, I was forced to grow up immensely in a matter of seconds.
We make decisions every day... it's a well known fact. Apple juice or milk for breakfast? Each decision effects us for a certain duration of time depending on the magnitude of each decision. I came to a state of overwhelming cluster-thoughts of how different I could have been if I took other paths, etc. If I stuck with music, continued playing basketball, pursued optometry, or had tattoos for days... or was mormon?! Perhaps there is a Meredith out there who has committed herself to every opposite decision I have made thus far. If so, I'd love to meet her someday.
With this cluster of thoughts, I imagined paths laying in front of me, behind me, running circles, twirling, curving about the ground with infinite possibilities. Each decision, no matter how miniscule, will lead you to the next one. So choose carefully always- this is what I've concluded.
Over life's course of events, I've become more realistic than bitter, more stable than gullible... but alas, I still find truth in David Hume's philosophy: Reason should and ought to be a slave to the passions. So brace yourself because this is about to head in an abstract direction... where reason has little importance... and where I still find truth in Alfie,
"When you walk let your heart lead the way and you'll find love, any day."
Whether this 'love' is a person, a soulmate, a career, a passion, or simply a happiness-- it is very accurate to call this kind of.. my belief. My words, my actions, my thoughts, my voice, are all my own and are organic by my nature. I never do or say anything for a desired outcome, play games, or do something because someone said I should. Even if someone suggests something, if I commit to doing something it's because I have decided that it is right. To concur with another philosopher, Sartre argued, as the atheist existentialist he is, that when you choose something-- you affirm it as valuable. Just because we as human beings exist, we have the freedom to make choices (which is wonderful and awesome!)... and the freedom to not choose something. With this freedom of choosing comes responsibility. This freedom is what gives our existence its essence... for we create what is valuable to us by choosing, by making decisions.
Screw 'i love you', 'i need you', and even 'i want you,' it would just be refreshing for someone to choose me. Haha, there is no way I could ever be demanding for my needs are so easy to please.
Anyway, I follow my instincts, or my heart, better than anyone I know. Don't associate instinct with impulse, for I think everything in and out, frontwards and back, before I act upon it. This way of functioning, 9 times out of 10, SUCKS! I can easily get burned, left vulnerable with my words hanging in the air, stabbed in the back, or any disheartening cliche you can think of... and regardless, I have yet to get permanently frightened from opening up again.
I'm good at forgiving I guess.
It is within those times that my heart seems to speak up the most, or inappropriately... but it is worse when it becomes abruptly silent when I need to hear what it wants the most. There was a moment this summer when my heart spoke up in a way I never thought possible.
I know life is all about living and losing and I certainly understand how we all get a little frustrated being compassionate when it's just another tale of someone losing someone. Mmkay, so brace yourself again because this is one of those.
I don't know why my instincts were so strong that morning or why I got up as early as I did. Besides a run and an easy shift at work, I had nothing to do that day. But as I came downstairs, I found my dad sitting on the floor comforting Ernie, our family dog, as he returned from another seizure of running, puking, and peeing. My dad had just gotten back from a business trip so we were all relieved to have him home since no one understand Ernie as well has he did. I had presumed his duties, picking up his dog messes, feeding him his meds, picking him off the ground when his hindquarters gave out... it was rough. Ernie was an old man who loved life and didn't want to let go. It was almost like he didn't want to lay down at times as if sleep would help death catch him. Once he returned to a conscious state, the dreaded questions arose.Without thinking, "I can't stand to watch him go through this for one more day."
We made the appointment at the vet and it almost as if Ernie knew. He was calm as we carried him, our 120lb collie-husky-lab mix like a baby to the pick up. He laid so still as my dad took comfort in the vets words: "I really think you're making the right decision today."
Decisions.
This was my decision, my choice, to take the life of a friend whom yes, even in miserable pain, I would still love to spend another day with. Where is the line that determines the good and evil? Right and wrong? Is it selfish to want him to stay alive with his pain of heartless to end his life to be rid of his pain?
I knew the answer as I wrestled with these thoughts until I found the root of all my frustration with this decision.
I could never take it back. This decision wasn't refundable, changeable... Just because I chose to put Ernie down, I felt as if I should too have the power to take it back- but I don't. When people pass it hurts, and sometimes to get rid of the pain we want to reverse decisions of change the situation... and in natural situations, one doesn't have a choice with death.
And yet, I did.
This dialogue isn't meant to question whether or not I made the right decision. Ernie did not have the option of avoiding death. His day was coming eventually. It's just that this was my first time dealing with such a magnitude in one decision and coping with the responsibilities... the pain. My dad didn't make the decision. I did. In fact, he confessed that he probably wouldn't have done it without me even though he too, knew it was time.
And there's more.
As the vets took Ernie into the building, my dad turned to me and said, "They asked if we wanted to be with him, but I said no. I figured you didn't. I don't." I got into the pick up quietly as my heart suddenly spoke up.
He figured wrong.
My dad is my rock in my life in so many wonderful ways. I knew his soft heart could never handle watching this and he was scared, in need of a strong ale. And even though I too was hurting, there was something wrong with driving away at that moment.
If you know me at all- I fear a lot of things. These fears used to greatly dictate my life decisions, generally subconscious, and my biggest fear being the unknown. Haha, I'm working on it. Likewise, I was scared shitless to go back into the vet all by myself, not knowing what to expect.
One may scoff at this, proclaiming that Ernie was just a pet etc and he wouldn't have been competent to process whether or not he was without family in his last moments. Regardless, he was a huge part of our family and there was no way I could let him die alone. It was comforting to see how the vet handled him loved him, and comforted him in his last moments. I wouldn't have known this if I hadn't stayed with him.
Alas, it was peaceful and painless; he was so cooperative and relaxed as if he knew what was coming and I can only hope that he was accepting. As I kissed him on the head to say goodbye and walked back to the pick up to find my dad standing, waiting-- and he thanked me. My brother phoned soon after and he too thanked me.
"I didn't do it for you."
In this world full of shit and yet beautiful things, the majority of people are lonely. Even in a crowded room, a marriage, a strong friendship-- we all have our moments of complete and utter emptiness, loneliness. A hole I hope to continue patching up on my own and hopefully one day find someone who will continue to patch it up with me, and likewise me to him. Until then, sometimes loneliness will catch up with me and all I can do is welcome it in, sit it down, and offer it a beer. But when someone's time comes, they should not be lonely.
No one should die alone.
And perhaps, that is one of my own fears.
A good friend once told me that the good people are always the ones stuck with the short stick. Ha, he said this stating me as one of those good persons. He said the ones with the big hearts will constantly put themselves out there and sometimes we're the ones who get loaded with all the pain, the work, the bull. Agreeing with his statement, I still can't imagine living my life any other way. I will continue to live how I deem it virtuous even if I'm the one coping with the heavy responsibilities and others around me fail to see me for all that I am.
I still miss him everyday. Every time I walk into my parent's house his absence is startling even though he passed a few months back. When Ernie passed he took my childhood with him. I wasn't expecting that. Every memory growing up- he was there. From me crying over my chewed tennies to running around the front yard with him in the rain... he was there. I am incredibly thankful for that.
When the beginning of the end came, I was there for him. The first night when he didn't have the strength to make it up the stairs I grabbed some pillows and blankets and camped out on the living room floor beside him. If I had the strength to carry him up the stairs I would have, but there was something rejuvenating in pretending we were young again... almost like building a fort.
Some decisions are permanent. In this strange life full of changes, cycles, peaks and troughs-- some things never really end or leave: even the people you cut out of your life have a way of coming back, finding a way to fit into your life again, starting anew... even if you were sure the paths you took and the decisions you made burned the bridge to cross again. But death is the final cause. The only way the cycles end and have no way of changing again.
Ernie was an obnoxious life lover. He had a loud bark to greet each visitor with, a hard head, a dangerously happy tail, the sweetest hello when arriving home, the dearest eyes of a genuine beggar which were the prettiest blue I'll ever see. He was gentile, a bed hog, eager for five am walks, a softy for the cats, and he had the heart of a child. He never really did grow up; always seeking more attention, more love, table scraps, and always anticipating someone to come home.
Still miss his blue eyes, everyday.
Rest in peace my friend.
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