On Random Losses . . . and a Special Flower

Life comes and goes in an instant.

There is the life that exists before . . . and the life that exists after.

One moment, someone or something you know and care about is here on the earth. You probably take the presence for granted, that the presence will always be around, so you may not pay the presence much attention sometimes. But the presence is always there in the background, and you are comforted in the knowledge that it is there and all is right with the world.

Then something happens and the presence is not there anymore – taken away when we aren’t at all prepared for it.

Or maybe we are kind of prepared for it – we can see the signs – but we choose to ignore it and the shock of the event *actually happening* throws us for a loop. Our lives had been touched and they will be touched no more.

These are not original words or original thoughts, and they are not even that well written, but they are true.

Yesterday, Mr. Random actually called me from work as soon as he found out that Tim Russert died. Mr. Random works at a Random Publication which has sort of a tangential association with that world, and his publication has a lot of guys who fit Mr. Russert’s profile – middle-aged, kind of heavy journalist – so it struck really close to home. DC is a small place, and circles overlap, so it really was a bit of a blow.

But yesterday something else happened. For the past two weeks, my friend J had been dog-sitting a large poodle named Daisy, who was 14 years old. I had met Daisy a couple of times before and she was the sweetest dog, very well behaved and, since she was so old, had a bit of trouble with standing up and going up and down stairs. Yesterday, Daisy wasn’t eating at all and wasn’t herself. The owners were supposed to come back earlier in the day, but their flights got screwed up and only one of the owners came back early enough to help J take Daisy to the vet. It turns out that Daisy had to be put to sleep last night. J was there and very upset about it and called me after it happened, since I was one of the few people who actually met Daisy, and I was very upset too . . .

So I decided to write this post. Because while Daisy wasn’t as big and famous as some other people who died yesterday, her life had meaning to those of us who knew her, even briefly.

It may seem cheesy, and I didn’t write this very well, but this post is in honor of Daisy.

Well done, sweetie! You were a good girl! Sleep well, my dear.