The Dog

Existential Crisis! A profound statement that we all use liberally from time to time. It was not a series of events as crises occur, but more so a moment in time. A time that lasted a minute which that minute felt like an eternity. A minute which I packed every possible question about my life existence and meaning of why I was still here. What the hell is going on? What is life about? Why am I still here, and what kind of damn lesson is this …? It was a minute with a lingering hangover that lasted two weeks. She turned towards me and realized at that moment I was not there. She didn’t ask me any questions, and I did not offer any answers, either. I had no words at that moment. Or had too many of them, but they were words meant to be exchanged in my head. We had made an agreement a while back that I would share only up to 80% of what I experience or what was going through my head at a moment. It was part of our relationship accord we had made that helped balance the ongoing release I needed, while still feeding the roots of the new relationship that is growing. 

On Thursday, I flew to Sun Valley with Frankie, the three-legged maltese-poodle we lovingly referred to as Turd Ferguson - SNL Lovers, anyone?!? My intention was to see Brynn’s mom whom I became close with throughout our time supporting Brynn against her battle, and who has been pivotal in helping me move through the various phases I had been experiencing with grief and healing. I was also going to drop off Frankie as I had various extended travel plans coming up, and did not want to cause so much instability in his life given his entire life had been one big trauma after another. He was first discovered in an abandoned litter when a few weeks old. A broken hind leg that was beyond repair, with a subsequent amputation that followed. It appeared no one wanted a three-legged, raggedy looking malnourished maltipoo, and there he was a few days left in a high-kill shelter when his fate would change as Brynn came into his life. This was in the tail end of summer of 2016 - we had been in each other’s lives from that moment on.  

But the truth, I was struggling with him. Ever since Brynn’s passing, his separation anxiety had become difficult to deal with, and in return started causing anxiety with me. If you don’t think dogs go through grief, well, I hope you will never have to find out. The little guy’s behavior changed from anxious to aggressive, to protective, and sometimes just ambivalent from one moment to the next. But remaining his masterfully charming and manipulative self along the way. My in-law’s house in Sun Valley was safe for me and Frankie emotionally, as he had two cousins he has known all his life and a loving environment. And I found comfort knowing he would continue to be with Brynn’s energy. I do wonder how much of my reaction to his anxiety was more so a reaction to my own? The elevated anxiety about abandonment that reappeared.  

Here we are sitting on the couch watching a Sunday night movie on a Monday night. Frankie is sitting in between us while we sip on tea and enjoy our occasional evening dessert of dark chocolate and mulberries. And then I looked around... I am sitting in the same house, with the same dog sitting in the same place on the same couch, but at that moment another woman was in this all too familiar picture. And this was the moment when the mind took over every part of my being, and there was no stopping it.  

What triggered this at that moment? Over the next couple of weeks I had to spend a considerable amount of time and energy unpacking things. I had been grappling with the emotional swings about the possibility of dropping Frank off in Sun Valley for some time. But what was the correlation, and why was I personifying Frank at the levels that pushed me to enter this “existential realm” where no questions could be answered in a place nothing made sense? Was it really about Frankie the dog? Of course, I became attached to him as we do with our pets. Yes, we have gone through a lot together. He had become my emotional support animal throughout some very complicated and difficult times, where my obligation to him made me be. And yes, I did use him in my efforts to remain connected with Brynn somehow. But at the heart of this was, he represented the last living vestige that made up the original unit in this house. He remained my emotional connection in the house that was directly tied to Brynn and our life together. It felt the flight to Sun Valley represented a chapter that I had not finished writing in. And I was not ready to finish writing in.  

The Tuesday ahead of my flight Susan called to ask whether I was still coming. She had an incredibly heightened intuition as most mothers do and sensed the battle that was raging within me. And that battle was raging hard, with each day waking up with a different reality and relationship with the idea of flying to Sun Valley with Frank and coming back to San Francisco alone. I said I don’t know, and she replied with, you can cancel if it does not feel right. But beyond bringing Frank, I wanted to also bring several memorabilia Brynn kept from her childhood. Writings about life – her introspective, creative and humorous nature started young, I must say –, short stories, and videos I had digitized from her days in children’s choir to stage performances as a teenager. I was ready for this milestone of freeing myself of not wanting to disturb the home’s harmony. The moment felt right. The idea of leaving Frankie behind did not feel right or wrong, just confusing.  

Over the past couple of days we went through the memorabilia together, with Susan reminiscing, sharing stories as we laughed and cried together. And then it hit me the three-legged maltipoo was always meant to come into Brynn's life. While going through her writings I discovered she had written a story about a three-legged dog 25 year before Frankie appeared in real life. His fate had been determined a long time ago.  

As the quick trip came closing to an end, I joined Frankie in sharing his separation anxiety. The idea of him not being at the house, or looking up and seeing him at the window as he gazes at me with disapproving eyes while barking at the audacity I had for leaving him there, but then welcoming me back with his tail wagging faster than a propeller has occupied my mind as I sit in a quiet and empty house today. An empty house is far from what this place is. Filled with memories, laughter, despair, and every other emotion one can imagine, and life! I may be the only part of that unit who is sitting here at this very moment, but it does not mean that unit doesn’t exist. It always will. And the house is welcoming new memories, laughter, joy, playfulness and every other thing that the initial unit who occupied it imagined it would, and be happy so.

As Susan drove me to the airport this morning, she very well knew the struggle I was having sneaking out of the house leaving Frankie behind. She looked at me and said nothing is forever.  

-Troy