Sunday was a continuation of Keep Busy, Keep Distracted. I take any kind of loss hard, but when it’s a pet, it’s on a whole new level. I’m not the type that can be sad for a day and move on. I’ve been jittery, beyond emotional, bellyaching over nostalgia. All I can hear is that vet saying, “He’s gone” like a record being played at 16 RPM and then wondering who’s going to sit on my lap and soak up my tears when I become ridiculously and abnormally emotional watching Desperate Housewives and Vampire Diaries.
Certainly not Marcy.
After a day spent at the park playing wiffle ball and me ducking from a frisbee, I conned Henry into finally turning off the road on the way home from Target so we could finally check out the Beth Abraham Cemetery that I always admire from the car. He didn’t seem too thrilled about it, but Chooch began chirping him from the backseat and that combined with my impromptu sobbing finally did him in.
Of course, he wound up getting the car stuck. The road eventually fades away to weeds and maintenance refuse, leaving little to no room to turn around. Still, he tried it anyway (anything for the chance to flex his professional driver muscles) but all that did was make our tires bounce off the curb like an oversized bumper car. After swearing at me and telling me over and over again that he hates me, he threw the car in reverse and backed the whole way out.
“Oh, please park in that little lot there so we can get out for a minute,” I pleaded. What good is a cemetery drive through if you can’t get out and plant your feet on the decrepit, moss-covered pathways?
Henry was not happy about this either, but I had Chooch on my side, so Henry swung the car angrily into the tiny lot next to the cemetery office, and Chooch and I happily took off.
Think what you want about our past times, but the truth is that cemeteries are the only places outside of Warped Tour where I feel at peace. Why is it that other people can take solace in church but then I’m crucified for finding my own peace in a plot of land which is, hello, CONNECTED TO THE CHURCH. It makes no sense to me that there people out there who think I’m Satanic for this, or endangering my child. How am I endangering him? For giving him a healthy and realistic outlook on death? For not making up some goddamn fairy tale?
The fact of the matter is that Chooch and I have some of our best conversations in cemeteries. And that includes when he was still in utero. This time we talked about the Jewish tradition of leaving stones on the graves. I let him add one to a bare headstone, but only after he said a few nice words to the person buried there.
Henry and I both have the day off work, since we originally were technically supposed to be coming home from Philly today. I’m glad he’s home, because I can’t bear the thought of being alone in the house just yet.
The last five months have taught me that I love animals too hard and I should probably never get another pet again. It’s just too much on my heart.