Endings And Beginnings

Life is really just a series of endings and beginnings, isn't it?  When our lives begin, wet and raw, our parents' lives are ending - or life as they knew it.  Although it's hard to imagine the 'before', there is a before and after in their lives, in that moment.  And there is for each of us, many times over.  We grow in stages, defined by where we are, who we love, what happens to us.  If you could shear your history with a chainsaw like a tree, you would see the rings of those things, those people, those decisions, those heartbreaks.

In the history of my life, this time will leave a number of rings, perhaps a few sizable knots, as well.  It is a time of upheaval, a time of many endings and beginnings, a time of coming to terms with that realty of life, and of learning to see the beauty in even the pain.

This week I told the Professor that I can't continue spending time with him.  I told him I am grateful for the time we have shared, that we get along, that we're on good terms, but that I am ready to move away from everything.  I didn't say all that I think or feel, or everything I would like to have said (in love, anger and hurt) but I said what needed to be said.  I said what I needed to say with respect for both of us, with dignity and kindness.  I said enough, and I let the rest go - with sorrow and relief.  It is an ending for me (if not for him), but it looks to another beginning.  For my Aunt J:  it is a broken hallelujah - but without doubt,  it is a hallelujah.  And there will be many more of those.

I also learned this week that my sweet, brilliant best friend of almost 14 years is no longer a puppy.  I adopted Chase when she was eight weeks old.  I was only 21, and so Chase has been with me for more than one stage of my life.  I was living in my parents' basement when I got her, without their permission or knowledge (the getting Chase part, not the living in their basement part), and if I recall, they were less than pleased.  Five years later, they were equally thrilled to invite Chase to live with them while I finished law school, so I wouldn't have to give her away.  Notwithstanding her middle-of-the-night guarding of the house (by way of hours long barking sessions) and the carpet of white hair with which she blanketed their front porch, Chase found a place deep in their hearts.  A few years ago, after a Christmas visit with Chase, my mom called me an hour or so after we left the house.  We were driving through the deep North Carolina mountains.  She asked if we could turn around, bring Chase back and leave her there to live.

But Chase is no longer the puppy who would chase a ball for hours, panting to the point you thought she'd drop right there, and so you hid the ball and forced her to rest.  She limps with arthritis and waits patiently for me to lift her onto the bed to snuggle me at night, where once she bounded.  Recently, she wheezes when she's excited or hot. This week, for a few moments, it was clear she struggled to breathe, pulling air in sharply and deeply, sounding like an angry goose.  The vet says she has laryngeal paralysis.  The muscles of her larynx no longer open and close properly.  They need to open so she can breathe, and close so she can eat and drink without aspirating food or water. The only treatment is surgery.  The Professor and I agreed long ago that we wouldn't put Chase through surgery at her age and with her arthritis, and the vet concurs.  The palliative treatment is cool air (I'm anticipating outrageous energy bills) and relaxation to keep her breathing normal.  If she has an episode of respiratory distress, she will have to go to the emergency vet for sedation and oxygen.  We won't let her go through that multiple times.  It would be selfish.  All that matters now is that she is comfortable and happy.  The rest of it is my problem to deal with, not hers.

Good news: the vet wrote us a scrip for Valium.
Bad news: unfortunately, it's not for me.

There are also beginnings happening this week.  A multitude of beginnings.  My sweet "baby" cousin Timmy and his effervescent fiance, Ashley, are getting married.  This will not be your greet-the-relatives-and-endure-it wedding.  This is a weekend of celebrating the soul-mate, life-changing, can't-live-without-it kind of love we all desperately want, admit it or not.  It's also a weekend of celebrating the newest addition to the family - Tim's nephew, my brand-new gorgeous second (I think?) cousin, Julian.  And, from my point of view, (and perhaps most importantly), it's a weekend of celebrating the Walker women - who have reared siblings, children, nieces and nephews, grandchildren, and, most importantly, friends, among their family.  I love those women. They are the women that novels and songs are written about.  The women who make moments happen (and without whom moments do not exist).  They are the women who make life, who make you stop in your tracks and hold your breath, because of their strength and their bonds and their beauty.

Endings wind down, and beginnings burst forth.  And that is painful. But it is also beautiful.  And the Walker women - they know it in their bones.  And so they love, and they live, and they cry, and they go on. And then they begin again.

And I am one of them.