In Passing

Hoover and The Boy, sunny day.

Hoover died quietly Saturday afternoon. Because she wasn't in any pain she got to die at home in the care of the people who loved her, and not in some scary smelly vet's office.

I never intended to write about the pain of losing a friend, just about the joys of having her around in her decline. The way the timing worked out it wound up being more like therapy, something I hadn't foreseen about blogging. My wife and I were touched by the good wishes and the stories so many people shared.

If I have anything like an abiding principle or a guiding light it's something Alan Watts said, to the effect that we imagine ourselves as discrete individuals walking through a world which is "out there" and different from us, when the truth of the matter is we're like apples growing out of a tree. Then we fall off, and rot, and get eaten by worms. I added that last part. I'll never be as spiritual as Alan. But I like to think he'd have laughed if I could have said it to him.

We're granted an illusion of time and we get to share it with others. Then it's gone. And we cry because we can't hold it back.

She never told me her favorite song, so I played Tom Wait's "Time". If she could have, I know she'd have appreciated the growling. Managed to give her a nice spot next to the Boy (with all the big tree roots you never know til you start digging), with her favorite toy (plastic bottle cap) and a coin for the ferryman. If there's a Heaven I trust the bathroom faucet trickles endlessly and the mice are slow.

Breathe in, breathe out. Hug somebody today if you're fortunate enough. And thanks again, everyone.