Journals

Where’s the Catcher, There’s the Catch   On a cold reigning December night on the eve the resolution of a freezing leafless tree induces a paralysis of my senses.   Then just as quickly stirs them back again.   Although my head and hands are covered the reawakened wind whips tiny pellets of ice with surprising velocity in the direction of my misty eyes.   Turning away to avoid the full fury of their wrath I can no longer meditate on the concept of frozen life stemming from the crowded ice cycles growing from the sturdy tree’s shaking bone-thin limbs.   Beneath my own layers of well-worn armor and sensitive skin lies a suddenly and equally frozen heart, locked in place and rendered temporarily out of order.   I have experienced my first real loss – my silent wagging lover of the last ten years – and the ice is my solace.   My mind swirls as the memories hit me.   The walks we shared, the yellow bat and worn out ball we used to spark so playfully in the neighborhood park, the nights we had her favorite meal of pork chop ribs and the look on my face when one stuck in her throat.   I drove her to the hospital that night thinking I’d lost her; now I have.   And she was golden, a friend that never needed to utter words to express her love for me, never minded my messy morning appearance or my laziness when it came to cleanliness.   She was my first, and will be until the day basses cross along perfectly positioned batted eyes.   But I can’t simply move on to another young pup.   I won’t.   Where’s the catcher, there’s the catch.   Missing in the field is my MVP.                    Two days before the celebration of the birth of the One Old Testament prophets foretold, I could barely bring myself to start the car knowing it would be our last ride together.   Painfully I read her her last rights and told her I loved her one more time.   Carrying her in my arms she was lighter than I recalled.   Tears started to stream down my face as I neared the door – I would have to set her stiff body on the cold ground to open it.   Damn it why did it have to be this way.   I never imagined when I imagined this day it would be so hard.   I’d never been to a workshop to prepare me for this kind of tragedy.   Perhaps it’s time I pick up the good book collecting dust on my shelf as a reminder of the true reason for the Christmas season.   And maybe I’ll risk playing it safe and take a lonely meandering drive to witness the festival of lights.   The luminaries will be out tonight I think.   Perhaps  I’ll go all the way into the Nation’s Capital and sit in front of the National Christmas Tree to ponder what the heavens would have me do.                    As simple as a childhood fairytale, I wish upon the whole moonlight sky of stars I could have her here with me for just one more day, the one day that really matters.   I just don’t see the point of going to sleep tonight; all possessions are meaningless to me now, all gifts a miserable reminder of what can’t be replaced.                     It’s the time of year for giving and all I have to give is sorrow.   A stinking lump of coal in the stocking and a frozen heart is what I got.   Coming from a god-fearing person with faith in the decency of humanity, take it from me; take comfort in the ones you love, the ones who have proven to be most valuable.   Keep them close to you.   Hold them near for as long as you can .