Here's a little Solstice offering, if for no other reason than to give you a moment in which you do not have to think about dementia. It's a piece of mine from 2016. Featured, is Checkers who was an amazing dog. He died in 2021, mere months after my mother was placed. Loss upon loss felt impossible to me. But I promise, you will get through it, as did I. It will take time, and when it's over, even more time, but you will recover, and you will find peace and joy in what time you shared with your loved one over their journey through dementia.
Happy Solstice, and many blessings for your holidays,
Leigh
Solstice and Herring
December 18, 2016
Nothing says impending Solstice like a large tub of herring. Yup. My yearly tradition. And herring is especially appreciated after a good hour of shoveling. It’s beautiful outside. We’ve had about four new inches of snow and are due for about four more overnight, so I decided to split my effort into two shifts. The snow is light and it glimmers as it falls, glimmers in the glow of the street lamps and porch lights, glimmers as it falls and sparkles as it builds. Such beauty.
I had the dog out with me as I shoveled, but left the car doors open so he could go in and out at will since he gets cold quite easily in spite of two sweaters my mother knit for him and the winter coat over these. It’s not enough. His little pads can only take so much before he starts dancing with too-cold feet. He curled up in his blankets on the seat for most of the work, coming out once to visit with me and piss.
I went over the drive- and walkway twice, knowing I will have to do it again come morning. I was hungry when I got in, in spite of having had my dinner, so I hit the herring which hit the spot. I am like a bear, feeding, I thought while my dog’s pads melted of snow chunks as he waited, sitting on a towel in the foyer. I go to him and begin drying him off. He intently whiffs my breath. Fish, he knows, and I think, Why not? Why not share with him? Yes, I decided. This will be our new tradition. He gets half an apple every evening, his little snack before shutting in for the night. I gave him a couple pieces of herring to start and he ate this with joy, I’d say, repeatedly licking his bowl clean before I put in the apple. Dear little dog.
This afternoon, on our walk, just as the snow was beginning, I was running with him in the street, headed to the little park he loves to run in. I let go of the lead and off he scampers, his small sense of freedom and play limited only by the occasional skip he takes over the lead dragging beneath his feet. As we turned the corner to approach the last block to the park, I smiling and trotting along with my dog’s playfulness, a man pulled up in his SUV and rolled the window down. I expected a question about directions. Instead he said with real enthusiasm, “I commend you for finding the beauty of the day. It’s a lot of work,” he said, meaning the snow, “but it is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I said.
And that was that. He rolled away into the snowfall and the dog and I ran into the park. The good feeling of snow enveloped—negative ions, a friend taught me—cleansing all that would bother us. Lately, I wait with bated breath over many bothersome matters, things that are deeply troubling, acting where it’s possible and prudent.
My little dog on the other hand waits for nothing but food and warmth and a place to poop. He is curled up in peace on his little bed now, cozy in his doggy sweater. He teaches me every day about presence and being. He shoves his muzzle into the snow. Every moment of his life is an exuberance of joy and love.
