#GBE2 Growing Wild in a New Dimension

This Sunday I've been offered two bloggy opportunities. Rhonda over at Laugh Quotes is experimenting with her new Silly Sunday and my GBE 2 group has dropped the topic of "Growing Wild." As one who usually writes humor, these topics are made for me, but not today. "Growing Wild" must take on a unique interpretation that fits the definition of "without restraint" because my good friend will soon be free.

My Friend and Me

Dear Swaz,

     I'm sorry for being so selfish yesterday morning. You gave me the message, but I just didn't want to see it. I held onto the hope that things could get better. They're not. The smell of death is all around you. Honey Bear and Millie know it as they sniff and keep their distance. You won't eat, drink, and although you've tried to stand your body has given out. 
     We've been together for almost thirteen years, which is a long time for a golden retriever like you. If you were human, we'd be celebrating your Bar Mitzvah, but you got the fate of a canine and we're preparing for your death instead.
     I remember picking you up from a home in Mississippi where I met your beautiful parents--Precious and Rebel. I'm sure they are waiting for you as are many of your brothers and sisters because baby, you've lived a long life. 
      That day we got you, you were the round puppy with the pretty face. You shook in my arms the entire trip home but soon adjusted to the family where you were loved completely. 
     I will miss you greeting me at the door when I come home, your tail wag, but most of all the special way you used to sing to us when we called our lover dog.
     If you want to go now, I give you permission because I don't want you to suffer anymore. Daddy will be home around two. If you're still breathing, we'll help you to go.
      I love you, Swaz, and eventually I'll find a way to stop crying because now you will find a way to grow wild in a place where you can run free.


Mommy

    

Not great quality, but here are some pictures from his younger days.

Silent Moments: A Guide

This week on Writers' Post we've been asked to blog about silent moments. I'm sure we will read many beautifully heartfelt sentiments about those who are touched beyond words. This is not one of those. Below is advice for the socially challenged.

The Rhetorical Question
Remember when in the heat of a problem your mother or teacher asked you, "Do you think I'm stupid?" Trust me. It's best to provide a silent moment after these questions.

Too Much Information (alias TMI)
"Sorry I'm late but the dog got sick. He blah, blah, blah on the blah, blah, blah. This one was really gross! It looked like blah, blah, yackity, yack." Oh please just shut up. People don't care to know the inner workings of your body or that of your baby's.

To the Policeman
When the arresting officer says, "You have the right to remain silent," take his advice. It will do you no good to say, "I ain't been drinkin' occifer."

And of course I remember my son's freshman year of high school when he spent the night at the next door neighbors house--a boy his age. Although we required our kids to keep a curfew (at least the unfortunate first born child), our neighbor was much looser with the rules.

On several occasions, my husband would point out an older teen who would park his car at the end of the cove yet remain in it. Noting this suspicious activity, hubby would hang by the window and wait. Eventually the car would move forward and the two curfew breakers would step outside. This was my husband's cue to confront the boys right before they slipped into the car . . . at midnight of course. On one occasion the friend turned to my son and said, "I told you we should have waited longer!"

Aaaah, silent moments. They are the safety nets under the trapeze of life.

If you enjoyed my post, why not vote for me on the Picket Fence at the top of the blog.

Wordless Wednesday: She's Gone!

 

 

I remember sitting in the limousine at my father's funeral procession. While everyone around me wept, I felt a heaviness in my heart and couldn't speak. That's what it felt like when my youngest daughter left for college. "Heavy heart" is not just an expression. It's a real biological response that goes beyond tears.

Clicking this link: http://picketfenceblogs.com/vote/3715 should be a picket fence vote for me. Thanks!