Wednesday, July 8, 2009


My dad sent me a joke e-mail last Wednesday. I wrote him back: "Ha ha."

He wrote me back: "Call me when you get a chance."

So I called him. And he told me my dog was dying and my mother was hysterical.

Oh, dad...

I'm in the middle of the office of my internship getting this phone call, keep in mind.


I wrote to one of my friends that I was having a horrible day and my dog was dying. She wrote back that she was having a horrible day, too, and was having to spend a lot of time with her family on a vacation and she was ready to scream. I haven't talked to her since.


On my facebook wall, my away message read that I was "Having a bad day". My friend JP from northern Uganda wrote a response, asking "Why?" I tried to explain about my dog dying. I know he can never understand it intellectually, because the cultural attitudes towards pets are so different, but I bet that he can understand it emotionally, because grief is grief, right?


Wednesday night I went out to dinner with five dear friends.


I spent Thursday morning, in between waking, dressing, brewing coffee, and otherwise preparing for work, google-searching the opinion of different religions as to whether or not animals go to heaven. It's a mixed bag.


My friend Gwen, who is getting her Ph.D. studying evangelism in Liberia, wrote me that heaven is overrated, anyway, and that the best we could hope for would be to be reborn into a happy life. I love Gwen.


I thought about whether it would be better if he'd just been hit by a car and snuffed out instantly. Is it better to get to say goodbye? I don't know. I hate watching dying. The dying of the person infests all your memories of the person. Like Granma. I remember her somewhat making me jelly sandwiches and having sleep-overs with me, but mainly I remember her disorganized and confused and yelling at me for not offering chocolates to her friends, the invisible people on the ceiling (true story).

Maybe it's up to me to shift my own memories of her, and concentrate on the good and let the bad go.


I love Wookiee. I am never nervous around him. Ever. I just love him.


I got a "W" tattoo on my foot, so I will always remember that I will never forget him. It isn't for him, it's for me. And it isn't to remember him; it's to remember that I will always remember and love him.

I do just love him.


Kendra said...

I had no idea how much this was affection you. I know that sounds callous and cruel, but I guess... I guess we all get caught up in our tiny little slice of lives. I am sorry about your dog and I particularly love the poignancy of this line "The dying of the person infests all your memories of the person." I think it's why we tend to distance ourselves in part from a dying person. We don't want to forget who they are even when it's when they need us the most.

Ray-Ray said...

Thanks, Kendra :)


Tumwijuke Mutambuka said...