Thursday, January 14, 2016

Numb

I spent Wednesday night/pre-dawn Thursday tending to a sick puppy - puppy being a relative term used interchangably with senior dog who thinks he is- and is treated as though he is- people. He didn't always make it outside and it was coming out of both ends. We are now 3 months past finding out he's got cancer and should have been dead more than 2 months ago. So every time he's the slightest bit off, there is an extra bit of panic that sets in. His stomach, and the accompanying entrances & exits that were highly unhappy, finally settled for the night some time around 4/4:30ish. He wagged after his last round of abdominal pyrotechnics, which eased my concerns a bit. That little wag is his kind of all clear after not feeling so hot. I woke up to the girl dog, my little pretty princess roller derby dog with the constitution of a goat, refusing to eat and curled up in a ball with very little interest in the day.

What I also woke up to was the stunning news that Alan Rickman had died.


It was another instance of Facebook being the news, and while the first person's feed I saw was a completely reliable source, I checked with credible news sites.


I was numb. I knew that this was going to be a far more twisty-to-my-insides kind of thing than being struck dumb over David Bowie's death a few days earlier. But I was numb. My first thought was honestly, well it happens in 3's. And then I shoved it in a worn cardboard box in my brain and set about getting done what else I had to get done on the little sleep I'd gotten. 

The boy puppy devoured his breakfast and was in high spirits, his tummy troubles forgotten. With girl puppy (a rescue of unknown age, but solidly on the side of adult/senior-ish dog) not feeling her usual minx-like self so soon after the boy puppy, I suspected a short-term tummy bug and hoped for the best while I kept a wary eye on her. I was glad I was attempting to make chicken stock for the first time because I would have simple boiled down chicken and carrots to try on her on later. 

I had places to go and appointments to keep and by the time I got home I was running on fumes. I had made myself a coffee to go before I left the house (just managing to catch that I had forgotten to add the coffee as the water started heating up), carefully drinking from my insulated travel cup because I'm clumsy and I have a history of spilling just about anything I eat or drink. Today I learned my nifty insulated travel cup leaks. I learned it after went to an appointment with a large coffee stain on the front of my shirt that I didn't notice until much too late. Can't win 'em all.

As I sat at my desk in the late afternoon and tried to make some sense out of the thoughts I had compartmentalized earlier in the day, tears burned my eyes. My mother, who has not had the most stable of mindsets in the weeks following Christmas had been circling me. If that sounds strange, it's something she tends to do when either A. she senses something's off in me or B. she's having extra troubles. This was firmly a combo of both. I love my mother, but I can tell you that she has a sixth sense when my defenses are down and it's not so that she can give me a supportive hug and kind words of encouragement. I shoved everything away again. This was not the time to process.

So? Hours later the boy puppy slurped up his dinner (without spitting out his meds, a major victory in the day) and girl puppy happily downed a very modest but well tolerated bit of boiled chicken and vegis & wanted more. I was relieved. Even more so that her modest dinner has stayed put.

And I still feel numb, interspersed with moments of complete heartbreak. I spent the better part of the last twenty years (ahem, or longer) saying various version of the following: "I'd gleefully listen to Alan Rickman read from a phonebook, A-Z. Every page." Some of my favorite movies, from preteen through my ultimate favorite in adulthood? He's in them. Yeah, he's in a certain blockbuster franchise. And yeah, he was fantastic in it. But I adored him so much before that.

For someone who attempts to weave words into cohesive and interesting stories, I am at a loss for how to express the depth of artistic appreciation (as well as obsessive devotion to that distinctive timbre of his voice) I have for him. What I do know is that there are a list of movies that for some time to come, I will suddenly find myself heartbroken and tear stricken as I watch.

Because he'll need their spoons... get it? 

This seems like sound advice today.


Today made that abundantly clear.



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