Memento Mori
I don’t know if I should go today, and stand waiting till they put him to sleep; I don’t want to wait for someone’s life to be hushed away. The reason is to be there for my sister, to whole her unstable body, as she looses control of her will and cries, I would feel the same. My sister slept with him last night in the back room by the old rocking chair, trying to keep him close to her, trying to hold onto something dear you know won’t be here the next day. She didn’t change her clothes or think to eat, her tears rushed so quickly as she hurried up the front steps of the house feeling the incline of the water ducts in her eyes about the burst, all she could do was lay next to him, coo him to eat, but he would turn his head away, and show disinterest.
My sister doesn’t give up, she doesn’t want to be a failure, so if she couldn’t save Taz, she would have failed herself, she was the last one to know, it seems unfair she had the limited time to recover from the thought, when her dog was going to be “put to sleep.”
After work Friday night Taz took one of his last rides in the backseat of the car, when my dad came to pick me up, the window was rolled down so he could fill the wind rustle the hair done his back. He didn’t sit back, but reclined, thriving for life, as he still felt the movement of wheels rolling under him. Taz was a beast, but know he was just gentle, his head between his legs, and eyes preoccupied with wait listening to silent ticking alarm clock to break.
Taz was there differently for each member of our family, he came in my life eight years ago, when I knew my mom wouldn’t be happy with a dog, that this was the wanting need of my dad and sister. My mom found out different about three years ago, after my grandmother had passed suddenly in the early summer, when we came back from California, the dog was sick, something unknowable was creeping on him, that he had to walk in socks to keep his paws from bleeding.
She felt this was her second chance to take care of him, that nobody else would do it but her, that if she didn’t take the time to not focus on herself, with the recent death of her mother, she would end up drunk every night and hiding bottles of red wine. She secretly believed that Taz’s illness was because of my grandmother, that she had haunted his bones, and spoke to her from the blink of his eyes. So she stuck the pills down his throat; she aided his sores, bathed, and cut him, it saved her from moping over her mom’s death that she could save another, she bonded with Taz in dedicating to keep him alive, now he wants to go, and she feels he has given up on her.
Now I truly wonder what my moms is going to be like after today, what’s going to keep her from diving into the bottom of a bottle, I know she’s strong enough to take care of others, but I wonder if I am going to take care of her. Losing Taz is going to be more than his death.
My sister doesn’t give up, she doesn’t want to be a failure, so if she couldn’t save Taz, she would have failed herself, she was the last one to know, it seems unfair she had the limited time to recover from the thought, when her dog was going to be “put to sleep.”
After work Friday night Taz took one of his last rides in the backseat of the car, when my dad came to pick me up, the window was rolled down so he could fill the wind rustle the hair done his back. He didn’t sit back, but reclined, thriving for life, as he still felt the movement of wheels rolling under him. Taz was a beast, but know he was just gentle, his head between his legs, and eyes preoccupied with wait listening to silent ticking alarm clock to break.
Taz was there differently for each member of our family, he came in my life eight years ago, when I knew my mom wouldn’t be happy with a dog, that this was the wanting need of my dad and sister. My mom found out different about three years ago, after my grandmother had passed suddenly in the early summer, when we came back from California, the dog was sick, something unknowable was creeping on him, that he had to walk in socks to keep his paws from bleeding.
She felt this was her second chance to take care of him, that nobody else would do it but her, that if she didn’t take the time to not focus on herself, with the recent death of her mother, she would end up drunk every night and hiding bottles of red wine. She secretly believed that Taz’s illness was because of my grandmother, that she had haunted his bones, and spoke to her from the blink of his eyes. So she stuck the pills down his throat; she aided his sores, bathed, and cut him, it saved her from moping over her mom’s death that she could save another, she bonded with Taz in dedicating to keep him alive, now he wants to go, and she feels he has given up on her.
Now I truly wonder what my moms is going to be like after today, what’s going to keep her from diving into the bottom of a bottle, I know she’s strong enough to take care of others, but I wonder if I am going to take care of her. Losing Taz is going to be more than his death.