Thursday, October 4, 2007

Nate



This is Nate.



This is The Baby stealing Nate's ball.



And then wap-wap-wapping him on the head because
she just loves him too, too much.
I know the feeling. Teeth clenched. Heart, hammering away.
"You're so cute, I could just bite your ear." I have that feeling with all my kids.
Nate puts up with a lot.
This past week, I've had a heaviness that has settled on my chest and occasionally slides to the pit of my stomach. Someday, I'm going to have to blog about it all, but right now, it's hard to hear the words in my own voice, right out loud. I'm choosing gratitude...forgivness...grace...hope...the lovelier bits of life.
And when I am feeling completely smothered and smashed by the heaviness, I take Nate for a walk and we talk about it. Mostly, I do the talking and he does the smelling. He is a very intuitive therapist and reasonably priced.
We walk a three mile loop through the neighborhood, around ponds, down paths, and past houses with dogs that bark, longingly behind fences at the sight of us. I sometimes wish there were fewer pedestrians to pitty my blatant mental instability as I discuss the week's goings on with my dog, but there is plenty of goose poop for rolling in and bunnies to imagine chasing. It works for both of us I think, however I have yet to master the rolling in goose poop. Nate doesn't mind. More for him.
He pulls me along at a good clip, eager to get to the next clump of Blood Grass and decipher who's been by, today. He keeps my heart pumping and my feet moving when I want to sit on the closest bench and mope for a bit.
I've noted that somewhere around 2 1/2 miles my head feels clearer, my chest is lighter and heaving with the freedom of breath that reaches all the way to the bottom of my lungs, my grip on Nate's leash is firm but no longer agressive, the muscles in my jaw are more relaxed and forgiving, my pace is hopeful, and my view of the world is benefiting from all of those things: clarity, light, freedom, strength, forgivness, hope.
There is only so much heartache one person can bear. Eventually, it will make its way to the surface. Heartache can turn to anger, anger to bitterness, and bitterness will send its tentacly roots through the very heart of a person and change the way they see things, which will change the way they are seen.
I am thankful for the little role Nate so willingly plays in helping me find my way to the lovelier bits.
I encourage you to take your lovelier bits for a walk, today.

8 comments:

Christine said...

aren't dogs wonderful therapists? I am currently dog-less, but not by choice. someday soon.
when you ar eready to talk to us

about it all we'll be here.

xoxo

krishanna said...

You said: "There is only so much heartache one person can bear. Eventually, it will make its way to the surface. Heartache can turn to anger, anger to bitterness, and bitterness will send its tentacly roots through the very heart of a person and change the way they see things, which will change the way they are seen."

The bitterness can't root permanently if you zap it with root killer.. ;)

painted maypole said...

it is a choice, isn't, to focus on grace and love? Good for you. Share when you are ready, or don't, you know we love you either way.

sex scenes at starbucks said...

I think we all wanted some special time with our dogs this week.

Hannah said...

See, this is why I wish I wasn't so afraid of dogs. I love the image of you and Nate just walking along, just being together.

Lori said...

Well, first, I'm pretty sure my dog would rather have you for an owner. You have inspired me to get him out for a walk (in spite of the rain) this afternoon.

I agree, there is only so much heartache one can bear. Although, I have been surprised to find how much heartache I actually can bear. But the ability to ferret out the "lovelier bits" is critical if you are going to find a way to live with your heartaches, without letting them drown you. And yet, sometimes, I think you need to let them rise up, shed some tears, mourn old and new losses, before you can take that step back into the light again. But, that's just me.

Furrow said...

I'm so thankful for my pooch. His constant, warm presence has helped me through many a hard time. Good thing my husband walks him frequently, though, or he might not be so accomodating of me.

I'm sorry you're hurting. We're ready to listen when you're ready to type about it.

slouching mom said...

Nate's one of the good guys, huh?

Those pictures of Nate with The Baby are lovely.

I hope your load lightens soon.