It's been said that, in writing fiction, if you want a character to be loveable, you must first give him something to love.
B. loved Punkin.
B. came to live at GTI in the spring because of family estrangement, at least some of which was his own fault. And Punkin came with him. I don't know how old Punkin was, but she was a very old dog.
Punkin was sick and B. knew it, but he loved that dog and couldn't let go. Several people offered to help with the cost of euthanasia, or with the cost of burial, or whatever was necessary, and B. would say thanks, but he wasn't ready to make that decision yet.
So Punkin got sicker and sicker. When she couldn't walk anymore, B. would carry her outside and lay her on the grass until they were ready to go back in. The smell of Punkin's sickness was fierce and nauseating, even just walking past the window, but still B. couldn't let her go. She was all he had left.
One day in October, it came to the attention of some friends who live at GTI that Punkin had passed away. 3 days earlier. And she was still lying on the couch in B.'s room. He still couldn't let her go.
But they went in and took her and carried her to the "flower garden" where pets have been buried in the past and they gave her a bit of a send off and B. said thanks. And that was the end.
Until last week when B. had a massive stroke. When they found him, all he could say was, "Punkin... Punkin...".
After he was taken to the hospital, my friends looked in his room and his wallet for pictures of Punkin. There weren't any, but they found Punkin's collar, with the rabies tag on it, along with a little bone-shaped one engraved with her name. They took it to the hospital, and put it in his hand.
He soon slipped into a coma and passed away. We're going to have a little memorial for him at Dinner on Wednesday.
And then there was church this morning.
First Church of the Blue Haze kicked off with an hour or so of eating my birthday cake, laughing about what kind of personal evolution allows a good Baptist girl to go shopping for 'ashtrays for church' and making plans for the future.
L. suggested having a fund raiser to pay for a day trip together somewhere and we decided on Peterborough, to see the zoo and the locks and the farmers' market and take in the concert in the park.
We're putting together a big yard sale for May 10 and we're going to sell hot dogs and drinks, have face painting and whatever else we can come up with.
We needed a name for our project, and A. came up with "The Hope Fund".
It was a really cool thing, because the planning and ideas came equally from those of us who live at GTI and those who don't, which is the spirit we've been hoping for all along. No us and them, just us.
Then we sang (added 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' to our repertoire this morning) and prayed for what's next for all of us.
It's a wonderful thing to have a future. Letting go can be tremendously painful and difficult, but to see what is happening in the lives of friends who have let go of some things and taken hold of others, is so freakin' awesome.
It's enough to make you believe in spring.
r
B. loved Punkin.
B. came to live at GTI in the spring because of family estrangement, at least some of which was his own fault. And Punkin came with him. I don't know how old Punkin was, but she was a very old dog.
Punkin was sick and B. knew it, but he loved that dog and couldn't let go. Several people offered to help with the cost of euthanasia, or with the cost of burial, or whatever was necessary, and B. would say thanks, but he wasn't ready to make that decision yet.
So Punkin got sicker and sicker. When she couldn't walk anymore, B. would carry her outside and lay her on the grass until they were ready to go back in. The smell of Punkin's sickness was fierce and nauseating, even just walking past the window, but still B. couldn't let her go. She was all he had left.
One day in October, it came to the attention of some friends who live at GTI that Punkin had passed away. 3 days earlier. And she was still lying on the couch in B.'s room. He still couldn't let her go.
But they went in and took her and carried her to the "flower garden" where pets have been buried in the past and they gave her a bit of a send off and B. said thanks. And that was the end.
Until last week when B. had a massive stroke. When they found him, all he could say was, "Punkin... Punkin...".
After he was taken to the hospital, my friends looked in his room and his wallet for pictures of Punkin. There weren't any, but they found Punkin's collar, with the rabies tag on it, along with a little bone-shaped one engraved with her name. They took it to the hospital, and put it in his hand.
He soon slipped into a coma and passed away. We're going to have a little memorial for him at Dinner on Wednesday.
And then there was church this morning.
First Church of the Blue Haze kicked off with an hour or so of eating my birthday cake, laughing about what kind of personal evolution allows a good Baptist girl to go shopping for 'ashtrays for church' and making plans for the future.
L. suggested having a fund raiser to pay for a day trip together somewhere and we decided on Peterborough, to see the zoo and the locks and the farmers' market and take in the concert in the park.
We're putting together a big yard sale for May 10 and we're going to sell hot dogs and drinks, have face painting and whatever else we can come up with.
We needed a name for our project, and A. came up with "The Hope Fund".
It was a really cool thing, because the planning and ideas came equally from those of us who live at GTI and those who don't, which is the spirit we've been hoping for all along. No us and them, just us.
Then we sang (added 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' to our repertoire this morning) and prayed for what's next for all of us.
It's a wonderful thing to have a future. Letting go can be tremendously painful and difficult, but to see what is happening in the lives of friends who have let go of some things and taken hold of others, is so freakin' awesome.
It's enough to make you believe in spring.
r
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