abigail414's diaryland diary
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Darkness and Light and Everything Inbetween
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Until you face your own mortality, you can�t really start to live�. Alan Ball, director of the movie �American Beauty� and the HBO Series �Six Feet Under�
�Dying is easy, it�s living that scares me to death�. Annie Lennox
I saw five puppies in person today that last I saw on an ultrasound. The owner had initially brought the mom in suspicious that she was pregnant � and we found 4 maybe 5 heartbeats. They left with an ultrasound photo clutched in their hands all proud parents-to-be. Today I gave the extremely cute Boston Terrier pups their first vaccines. It felt like Christmas when each one was brought out of the carrier. Cute cute cute. Their poor momma had huge sore mammaries almost bigger than she was - a burgeoning case of mastitis, so the pups are done nursing and time to take care of her.
And then I saw an impoverished but dignified older couple with British accents who brought in a thin blind matted cat for euthanasia. They had their own �rescue� operation that was recently condemned by the city of Rancho Mirage, so they had to find places for all their animals, including put the sick ones down. The owners were pale and trim in their shabby but neat attire � she in her prim black hat and lowcut top and he in cut-off jeans just above the ankle. They thought it only fitting that they stay with Chloe as she died, and took her body home to be buried under a tree they hoped would not be bulldozed. I suspect they may be homeless themselves.
Last night I finished HBO's 'Six Feet Under� series. All I can say about the finale is Wow � the end of the last episode was by far the best TV I've seen in a long time. The movie �American Beauty� brought me to a sobbing conclusion, and Alan Ball did the same with this show. In truth, it has taken me awhile to get through all 5 seasons, and in the middle I got bored with the neuroses of the LA-based characters. But damn, the last season and the finale in particular was totally kick-ass. If you haven't seen the series through to the end, I highly recommend it.
In case you don�t know, this HBO series is based on the lives of people running a funeral home, and the first few minutes of each show involve how they get their business � someone dying. I love this part the best, where someone is going about their everyday life and then boom they�re gone. It feels like a splash of cold water on the mundane existence of keeping laundry done, dog hair swept up, etc. The theme is �everyone, everything, everywhere, ends�. The best deaths are the surprise ones, like when someone is living healthy, running along a mountain trail, and stopping to check their heart rate, and then a mountain lion leaps across the screen and blocks your view and the camera pans back and you see the inert runner lying with the big cat atop him. Or when a woman is gardening and a block of frozen ice from an airplane hits her on the head, or a guy gets run over by his own SUV as he�s trying to pick up his newspaper off the driveway in the morning.
I�ve had a number of obvious chances to die so far(two armed robberies, an SUV rollover on a frozen freeway, falling off of a plane, laying a motorcycle down in an intersection, looking down an ex-husband's loaded gun I was holding); plus less obvious chances by falling from horses or treetops or dangling over bottomless Pueblo pits (according to my mother), or sleeping with almost strangers, or staying married to a very angry man, or other times I didn�t even notice. Does everyone have these regular brushes with death or is the grim reaper some kind of good pal? And is this why I can�t get to sleep at night, because sleep is a little death unto itself?
When I was 5 years old, I had a vivid lucid dream. I was kidnapped by some �bad men� and was making a lot of noise so they put me in the trunk of the car (a 1950�s shiny black coupe like my parent�s). I chewed my way through the upholstery into the back seat, and the guy in the passenger seat pointed a gun at my head. I told him �you can�t shoot me, because I can stop this dream any time I want to�. And then I woke up.
I sat next to my dad as he died, and as per an earlier entry, watched my childhood dog die. As my dad passed, I held his hand and closed my eyes and saw the light, the tunnel, and on the other side was his Uncle 'Hi' in overalls and a funny hat, standing under a tree with stone fences on green hillsides saying �Hey, Willie, come over here, I�ve got something to show you�. Dad looked about 30 and happy, and that�s the last I saw of him. A good friend in Michigan died from liver cancer the same year, and I saw him in a dream healed and happy and thanking me for visiting him when he felt so badly. I woke abruptly and thought �Rick�s well� - and then thought no, Rick�s dead. We were called later that day and told he had passed, at that very time in the morning.
When I was a blond southern California teenager, I learned how to do the Heimlich maneuver on my summer day job while sitting in the lunchroom with nothing to read - and then used it that night when a woman was choking on her steak and unable to breathe. I�ve wondered what that lady did with the rest of her life and why someone made sure I knew how to help her just in time. In my 20�s, I came upon a midnight accident on Hwy 99 in the middle of nowhere and and almost hit a body in the road. I was too afraid to stop and pulled over to call 911 (it was before cell phones). At about the same time, in the midst of the numbing depression of my first marriage, I did stop my car in the middle of Main Street Woodland California, turn my flashers on, and make traffic drive around me while I sat with a recently hit german shepherd taking his last breaths � and telling the hysterical screaming bystander to shut the fuck up, she wasn�t helping the situation. This kind of 'sitting with or moving the dead animal' behavior continued in Michigan, earning me the nickname �roadkill warrior� from people who would ride with me.
My mom thinks I�m a little too fascinated with death, and doesn�t have access to this diary anymore because I worry her too much. I feel a little like Dr. Death on my job, and as I write this, Lola, my dog with hardly any functional liver left, may be urinating on the living room tile and I�ll probably be putting her down soon. We are all dying, some faster and neater and sooner than others. I keep thinking the key is to be brave enough or aware enough or perhaps in love with life enough or holy enough, to fully live all that happens before death and not assume we have another day to get it done.
So, in the midst of all this, I seem to have taken up smoking. Just a � of a cigarette after work with my one glass of antioxidant-laden red wine. (I�m not a big fan of red wine, so this limits my alcohol consumption). It feels inordinately good to ingest something so deadly and disgusting and yet calming. Yes, I know this is weird and hope that, like my 1980�s cigar-smoking, it is just a phase. Smoking is bad, for your skin, teeth, lungs, breath, etc � but for some reason it is soooo comforting right now. (Except in the morning, when I still taste it through my healthy green tea).
And, what did I do while watching the Six Feet Under series finale? (I always do a task while watching TV) I was putting together a photo album of Laura and Mike to send to him. I have all these photos documenting the 10+ years of her childhood that I witnessed, and he has none and I certainly don�t need them. Earlier I downloaded the digital photos and burned a CD, which I�ll send along. She�s his daughter, and they have both cut off contact, so he ought to have them. Yes that hurts, but I look so unhappy in many of the photos I wonder why I stuck around so long or why I'd want to stay in contact. Oh, yeah, I loved him.
So, where am I going with all of this apparent adolescent puling? How to tie it up all neatly into a circle that makes my readers feel like they didn't just waste 10 minutes of their time? I don�t think there is a way.
Except to remember that when I thought I was facing my most recent moment of death last April, I felt such sadness that I had not been �content� with my life. Damn. Really, that was my last thought, so I think it was important.
I still don�t have 'contentment' � but there are moments. Yesterday's included taking a drag off a (disgusting) cigarette while watching the sun sink behind Mt. San Jacinto. Nelly my dog changing her position upon hearing the alarm to snuggle in a little closer. Opening all the windows at 6 am to let in cool air and let out the cats into the courtyard, where they sit in sun filtering through pink bougainvillea flowers. Sharing frozen mangoes and smoked tofu with both dogs looking expectantly at me. Wearing my new blue Brooks Brothers sleeveless polo and pink Mephisto sandals (from recent sales) while grocery shopping, and hearing a homeless guy scream about how proud he is to be American, and stopping to see if he has a gun.
And the eternal question; how to live more better real-er love more or at least care and be cared for more and yet be content with whatever happens? (In the olden days, I'd be sent to a convent or asylum to contemplate this, or to contemplate why I feel compelled to contemplate it rather than function as a veterinarian by day and blogger by night.) Is every moment I worry about wasting a moment a waste in and of itself, a mirror in a mirror? Like when I was standing in the kennel last weekend looking into a boarding suite, and saw an Animal Planet segment on TV showing a veterinarian treating an animal in a boarding kennel?
OK, so here�s one ending for this freeform rant. It was pointed out to me that the Fall Equinox is this Friday. We in the northern hemisphere are going back to having nights longer than days. The old witch in me could use a good ritual, a purge, an acknowledgement, a funeral - including a long-delayed bonfire (you can buy firepits here at Lowe�s) for journals and photos and cigarettes and anything else annoying. This Friday, let's all burn something that we no longer need - even just a piece of paper representing it. If we�re heading back into the darkness, we may as well travel as lightly as possible so we can more easily find our way.
I want to take a moment to acknowledge and thank the fleet of guardian angels it may have required for me to get this far in spite of my somewhat careless and reckless life. Sometimes I do feel their love.
And thank you, dear reader, for listening. I feel better now.
10 p.m. - 2006-09-20
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