Finding a way back is difficult.

Leonard is up several times a night now. It’s like having an infant in the house. And I worry almost as much. When he sleeps through the night now, I’m still awake listening for his breathing.

No walk this morning. Just a tour of the bushes in the front yard. The moon looks full, although technically waning. From this past week, I’ve learned to tell the time this time of year by the moon’s journey past the light post, over the shed, and across the street to just touch on the top of the nursing home’s roof. Midnight. Two. Three.

When my alarm went off at 4.15 he sighed but made no move to get up. So much for a tight morning schedule. So much for the springboard into a new (school) year, where I could pull myself together again body & soul as they say.

No morning walk. But a coarse pill shoved in the back of Leonard’s throat while I hold his snout up so he has no choice but to swallow. This is something of the pain we cause while trying to do good. I’m flooded with ambivalence but learning to hold it well. Responsibly.

In the living room, I move through the warrior positions and my shoulder hurts. My achilles bites. I am realising these are sensations that I will have to live with from now on. An infant grows through colic and a teen through “growing pains”. But these new pains will settle into my body and I will live with them. If I am very lucky my years will double over themselves from here, slowing in terms of change, but better-practiced in acceptance. Accommodation.

So I am trying to reframe the pain as tenderness. I’m trying to reframe all of my pain as tenderness.

This past week I have had flashes of anger. I’ve had memories surface. But as soon as I try to hold them, the details dissipate. The words grief and sorrow seem so intellectual. Signifiers with no corporal reference. Words-as-metaphors: vehicles lacking tenors. I think about the single sob my body ejected before my mind understood the situation of my mother’s death. Was that grief? The expelling of a single owl pellet of fur and bones, and the useless, undigestible bits of 55 years.

There is nothing more to be gained from this.

After the pain, after the vomiting, after the open wound has closed, there is tenderness.

And tenderness makes a soft bed for forgiveness to grow. Hope in the shadows of moonlight.

Yeah. That is sappier than I wanted it to sound.

Leonard has been sick for 3 days now. Up and out into the yard three times a night. Not long after we brought him home he got sick while we were at work and he tore down the curtains and blinds in the house trying to get outside – if we’d wondered, it was clear he was desperately housebroken. On Monday we had to replace the blinds again.

He’s five and has had two surgeries for bizarre skin growths, so I often worry about what might growing on the inside. My little collie mix lived to be 18. And it was so hard in the end. I know I won’t have Leonard that long, and it is a thought that I carry around in my gut. Sometimes I listen to him breathe at night as though he were a newborn. If he stays in his bed when I get up in the morning to walk him, I worry.

I imagine.

We had to muzzle him yesterday because he snapped when the vet touched his belly. It took three of us to keep all 47 kilos of him on the x-ray table that made a terrifying noise when it moved into position. The two vets told me that not all dogs are that difficult.

My chill pup was “difficult”. No matmor wants to hear that.

But his blood work was fine and the x-rays showed a clear gut. No masses. No obstructions. I’m pretty sure one of the medications she prescribed is for potential ulcers.

Maybe I’m not the only one who goes through the days imagining the worst and suffering for it?

At any rate, what’s making him ill isn’t visible. Some bug he at? Contaminated water he drank? The newly-empty, end-of-corona-restrictions house from 7 to 3?

His body is holding onto something and it’s keep us up nights.

This is familiar. So familiar that I know it won’t kill either of us, though.

Well. Part of me knows that.

Love is clinging. And I don’t believe there is any way around that.

I have no ambition to deal with this fact of life by detaching from the world around me. I’ll be lagging along the the noble path if that is really necessary.