Bob’s Gone

I wrote this all stream-of-consciousness style on Tuesday with no intention of sharing it, but then I sent it to my friend Jeremy (I felt like someone needed to read it and I didn’t argue that feeling.) He insisted that I share it and not fix or edit it. And he used expletives to describe how he felt and why I should share. So here it is.

Bob died last night. I can’t even. I can’t seem to wrap my head around it. I keep swinging from one end to the other on a rope swing, one end out over the big old hole of crying and moaning, the other end either not feeling it at all or thinking it’s not true or it was a mistake. Mostly I’m numb with a side of almost hysterical. I can go for a while without thinking about it at all, and then it sneaks back. And I literally feel myself looking into the hole and deciding that now is not a good time to lose it. I did for a bit last night. I lay down with the kids and as soon as they were both asleep I went into the other room with Carlos and just stood/sat/lay down and cried really hard. I didn’t say anything at all. After a few minutes, I went back to bed and cried a bit more and went to sleep. I let myself believe on some level that because he was still not cold when I went out and saw his body, he was really still alive, just really knocked out, and he would be fine. Sore, maybe with issues, but awake today. I know better but I still want it really bad. I’m also having that really strong feeling of “just making it not happen” like I am writing a book and I can decide “nope, we’re not actually going to kill that character. Delete delete delete.” Like, really strong. I have done that a little recently about other things too. Weird. I am convinced now (even though I still think he’s going to wake up) that his spirit came by the house this morning. Kougle saw it. She was desperate to get out. She scratched the dogdoor. She paced and looked out the windows. She walked over me and stepped on my head and jumped over me and walked by Monty and even on Safi just a bit. By the time I actually finally got up, she was over it. I know he was there. I know it. When the phone rang at 10ish and it was my dad, I didn’t even think about it being bad. I didn’t jump straight to “nothing good ever comes of calls after 9.” I probably will really really follow that again now. My dad is so crushed. He blames himself. He didn’t shut the gate tight. He has always had a fear of this I think. He used to get so so overly upset about the dogs getting out, the gate being shut, people (us girls in particular) not paying enough attention. It was actually one of the things we argued about right before I moved out. I let the dog out and the gate was open and I didn’t know and he made me come over to where I could see that the gate was open and made me feel stupid for not checking. And I do the same kinds of things with Monty. God I am screwing that kid up. Dad drove home 15 hours yesterday, and he was tired and he didn’t shut the gate tight. And it always feels so much better when there’s someone to blame. I hope he’s okay. I’m worried about him. The last time I saw the dogs, I stopped by the house to borrow the handtruck and I went in and saw the dogs instead of ignoring them. They were so excited to see me through the door and I felt moved to go see them and let them out. I am so glad I did. Of course we could not know that that was the last time I would see him. God. It hurts. Don’t jump in the hole. You are at work. There you go. Pee. Wash your face. Swing the rope the other way for a while again. Put it off. You’re fine. Man, do we all put on a brave face for each other well. We all do such a great job of being strong for each other. I had to go over there after Dad called. I had to hug my dad. And I noticed and commented on he and I ending it the way we started it, without the girls. And man, were they pissed when they came home and we’d gotten a dog. Didn’t take long for them to come around though, did it. And apparently he should have died six weeks ago when he was poisoned. It was more serious than I think I knew. Got an extra 6 weeks with him. And Dad swears no more dogs after this, although he does make a vague caveat about “unless it was the same kind of thing…..” and no real description of what kind of thing that is. And I mentioned about how these two were already Rainbow Dogs, dogs after the last dogs they were ever going to have. And I really do believe all those things we said about the others waiting for him, and there was a decision about it being his time to go and they came and got him, and what a wonderful welcome he got. And I know for a fact that it is not Dad’s fault. And I know that those things will feel more and more true and comforting over time, but I hope Dad can accept his lack of fault sooner rather than later. And how on earth are we going to tell Mindy? And Pam. And the vets. Dad called the cops about the whole thing. Complained about how everyone speeds through there. As I got there the police called him back and he answered with “thank you for returning my call. I’m calling because…..” and he had reasons, but I looked at Mom and Jay and said “he should tell that he’s calling because someone died and he has to call people and he doesn’t know who to call so he called you.” Hopefully he can call other people today and maybe that can help start his healing. Found out yesterday that Jay calls, too. Thank goodness for that. She calls people just like Dad does, and finds her comfort. I also realize that I don’t. I seem to have a hard time finding a good enough reason to bother people with the information. Even when I know that they want to know and I have to tell them, I don’t find the comfort in it. I don’t want to make them sad. I don’t want to give people bad news. Mom said she heard him cough the other day. She said this right after I suggested that the ones who have gone before us decided to come and get him and now he doesn’t have to die of a bad heart like all the others have. Doesn’t help yet. Bones seems to know already. Dad is convinced that he saw it happen, that Bob was saving the puppy in some way. Maybe that helps him. Carlos told Safi while I was gone what had happened. Apparently there was a point where she was crying and he asked her if she missed Bob. She didn’t really answer. He asked her if she was crying because she missed me and she wailed yes. When I got home she asked if I was happy. I said not really. She talked about me going to Mommy and Daddy’s house and seeing Gowie and Auntie Jay and the cats. I didn’t know she knew yet. When Dad called and I was on the phone, they both came out to ask what was wrong, but then were distracted by tablets when I left and I just left. I had to go. Carlos asked if I wanted to take Safi for joy and grounding and I said that my mom would feel like she had to work too hard if I did, which is true but not the whole reason. The whole reason also involves not wanting the distraction, and wanting to do this as a family with no outsiders. That’s probably a horrible thing about me, that the kids are still outsiders, and we will never be a family ever no matter what. I don’t know. Mindy knows now. She texted me at lunch. Her car is broken down and she needs help and she’s stuck and I can’t help. I have a meeting at noon and I have the car. I don’t know if Carlos will help with her serpentine belt and we’re going to fight about it. Again. And we have so much to do for DSHS and it’s ruining my life. And my relationship with Carlos is an absolute mess. Totally ruined.  Monty asked why I was upset and Safi said “Bob got hit by a blue car. No more Bob.” Which is so sad and true and creepy (blue car? How would she know?) and sweet and actually kind of a comfort somehow. Monty wanted to talk about details and he had some really sweet ideas about building signs like the ones Kingston has, the “Slow, kids at play” signs for Dad to put up in the street so people won’t drive so fast and then Dad could get another dog and it would be safe. And when I told him that Bob got hit in the head hard enough to die, he said that must have hurt because he’s had bruises that hurt a lot and I told him that we think he died before it hurt. I think he kind of got it. And he wasn’t really upset about it hurting, just matter-of-fact. When people say that life is different after something like this, I’ve even read that it was duller, or somehow not as bright. I can understand this better now. I literally can feel a difference in the quality of light between my memories of before and now. I have never noticed that before. I guess that means it didn’t happen that way before.



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