Shadows of Love

Love can inspire us to see beauty, and also to seek it in those around us...and, sometimes, in those who are gone. And if God is love, then perhaps we can understand where many of our most touching thoughts and ideas come from.

 

 

In 2009, a... man and the woman he loved took some wedding photos in the empty house they hoped to live in forever.  Two years later, as she lay dying from a rare form of cancer, her greatest fear was that her baby daughter would never remember her. And so, to reunite the two of them...and show their little girl what Mommy was like on the happiest day of her life. And so, as he was leaving a house once filled with so many dreams for the last time, a still-grieving father managed to give his wife a last present, and his daughter something to treasure for the rest of her life.

Mom's Memory Lives On...

Love endures...joyous, sometimes bittersweet...but always heartfelt.  And wherever it appears, the Universe smiles.

Source: Melanie Tracy Pace / Loft3 Photography

JEFFREY CAMINSKY, a retired public prosecutor from Michigan, writes on a wide range of topics. His books include the Guardians of Peace-tm science fiction adventure series, The Sonnets of William Shakespeare, and the acclaimed Referee’s Survival Guide, a book on soccer officiating. All are published by New Alexandria Press, and are available on Amazon, as well as directly from the publisher.

Daisy

In the Spring of 1994, a new arrival joined our family.

Daisy was a small puppy who immediately fell onto hard times. She’d contracted parvo virus, and nearly died before she could take her first run in the field.

Over the years, she seemed to have a knack for mischief. Taken to Wyoming on a camping trip in 1995(despite the misgivings of an unidentified adult male member of the Caminsky Clan, who warned that taking a beagle into the wilderness probably wasn’t a very good idea), she ran off while on a hike. She was on the verge of supplying lunch to the local pack of coyotes, but we managed to lure her back before the entree was served. This was, I think, her one and only major camping trip.

Often wandering off at the Yanik Family Farm, she once went missing for days — most likely leading Skipper, her companion, along for the adventure — finally surfacing well down the road, miles away and completely lost.

Even her own back yard was a constant source of adventure: she spent much of her puppyhood confronting enemy invaders, chasing squirrels and barking angrily at distant, rounded objects...which looked like ordinary balls to us, but must have carried with them some alien life form to warrant such vigilance in the protection of her family. And one fine morning, we looked out to see that she’d impaled herself on a branch that had fallen from our maple tree — prompting a mad rush to the Vet by the human members of the family (one, a grumbling, bathrobe-clad male whom authorities declined to identify, was seen sighing harshly in the parking lot of Morris Veterinary Hospital while others went about their business).

But, through all the goofiness, wanderings, and barking, Daisy was a loyal and loving companion, whose tail always wagged when someone came home, and who loved her walks and her treats...and, most particularly, her meals, inhaling them with a gusto usually reserved for Olympic-level competitions. Her face always brightened when she started her walks...even in recent days, when her hindquarters were shriveling from old age, and she’d gone deaf (possibily from a lifetime of listening to ear-splitting barking at close range). Like our other dog --- Callie, whom we lost a year ago just before Christmas --- she gave her love unconditionally, asking nothing in return...except maybe an occasional treat, when she came inside from the backyard.

Lately her pace had slowed to a crawl and she seemed confused and bewildered, often wandering about aimlessly, as if searching for something that she couldn’t quite remember. But coming in from the back yard still excited her, and she still expected a treat. Though we kept putting off the inevitable, cleaning up after her when she couldn’t quite make it outside to conduct her business, we knew that our time together was growing short. And today, after giving her a lunch of chicken, her favorite thing in the whole world, and one final walk around the block she knew so well, we took her for her last ride.

Even though she’ll always be with us in our memories, it’s hard saying a last goodbye to a friend.

But these days I seem to be saying “goodbye” a lot.


JEFFREY CAMINSKY, a veteran public prosecutor in Detroit, Michigan, specializes in the appellate practice of criminal law and writes on a wide range of topics. His books include the science fiction adventure novel The Star Dancers, the exciting second volume in the Guardians of Peace-tm series, The Sonnets of William Shakespeare, and the acclaimed Referee’s Survival Guide, a book on soccer officiating. All are published by New Alexandria Press, and are available on Amazon, as well as directly from the publisher.

The Voice of Forever

Ernie Harwell returned to the ball park to say his goodbyes last night.

For as long as I can remember, he was the voice of the Detroit Tigers. He had just come to town when I began falling in love with the game. I can remember when he was teamed with the also-new George Kell, sharing radio and TV duties together.

Through the years, he was a constant presence...a constant reminder of when I was a young boy...an older boy...a young man...and now, a middle-aged man, with aging parents, who has noticed Time watching over his shoulder every now and then.

There are landmarks to every life: birthdays, vacations, the first day of school...then, before long, graduations, weddings, and eventually funerals. But through it all, a constant presence has been Ernie Harwell, the voice of the Tigers. Now, with cancer racing through his aging body, his voice will soon leave us.

Thanks, Ernie...as you requested, we'll try not to cry when you're gone. Instead, we'll simply try to remember...as we try to feel as young at heart as you always were.

JEFFREY CAMINSKY, a veteran public prosecutor in Detroit, Michigan, specializes in the appellate practice of criminal law and writes on a wide range of topics. His books include the science fiction adventure novel The Star Dancers, the exciting second volume in the Guardians of Peace-tm series, The Sonnets of William Shakespeare, and the acclaimed Referee’s Survival Guide, a book on soccer officiating. All are published by New Alexandria Press, and are available on Amazon, as well as directly from the publisher.

Goodbye to an Old Friend

We buried Callie today.

She died last December, a week before Christmas. Seeing that she was starting to suffer as a result of a lengthy illness, Nonie and I took her for a last walk...and a last drive to the doctor, where she fell asleep in our arms.

Because of the business and bustle of the holidays, and the press of winter, we decided to postpone laying her to rest until the weather changed. Today, in the first days of a new spring, we took her to one of her favorite places on Earth---the Yanik Family Farm, just outside of Jackson. And there, on a hillside beneath some trees, we put her in the ground.

Jason was there too, needing the chance to say a last goodbye. And we all helped dig her grave, and lay her in her final bed.

I was all right until we took her out of the plastic bag the Vet had stored her in. But seeing her again brought back all the old memories---the playful puppy, the loving companion, the pure joy she showed whenever anyone returned...or showed her the slightest love or attention.

Partings are always sad; and losing someone you love, no matter what species she may be, is always painful.


JEFFREY CAMINSKY, a veteran public prosecutor in Detroit, Michigan, specializes in the appellate practice of criminal law and writes on a wide range of topics. His books include the science fiction adventure novel The Star Dancers, the exciting second volume in the Guardians of Peace-tm series, The Sonnets of William Shakespeare, and the acclaimed Referee’s Survival Guide, a book on soccer officiating. All are published by New Alexandria Press, and are available on Amazon, as well as directly from the publisher.

Callie

Like all great apes, human beings can be cauldrons of bubbling emotions. Our feelings ebb and flow with great and small events in our lives, lending texture and depth to our existence.

As with most things, emotions are a blessing and a curse, bringing us sorrow as well as joy. And as death comes to all living things, we face some of our deepest emotional chasms when we lose a loved one...even if the loved one belongs to an entirely different species.

Callie came to us as a puppy—and for myself, she brought decidedly mixed feelings. We already had one dog—who had just passed out of her own puppyhood—and to me, one dog was plenty. From a new spate of bite marks on assorted bits of furniture, to the recurring wet spots in various places around the house, to the ever-increasing piles of unprocessed fertilizer left to adorn the backyard lawn, it seemed to me that we were now exceeding our doggie quota, and that as a result the Universe was careening into chaos:

Going on vacation? Now we have two dogs to unload on some unsuspecting doggiesitter.

Taking a walk? Now we have two impatient escorts—and their constantly tangling leashes—to deal with.

Mowing the lawn? Now we have twice as much crap to pick up (or mow around...or through, if I’m all by myself and anxious to get back inside to watch the ball game. Or nap, another favorite pastime that is underappreciated by some members of the household).

Yet in many ways, Callie—a golden retriever mix—was the dog I’d always wanted: our other dog—a beagle, like most of the other dogs we've had—was loud and stubborn, and apt to wander off if given half a chance. Callie was big—bigger than any dog I’d had—and loved to play fetch. But more than this, she was loving and attentive and eager to please.

We could walk her around the block...or down a hiking trail in the mountains...and she’d never wander farther than she could see us. And she always looked back to make sure we hadn’t gotten ourselves lost...though if we had, she would have been only too willing to come to our rescue.

She loved the water—at least, once she got over her terror at confronting her first waves. All three inches of them.

And she actually brought back sticks and balls...something no other pet of mine had ever done, no matter how much I tried to teach them. And she did it instinctively, laying it to rest (well, sometimes only after a wrestling match) at our feet, eager to bound out again for the next go-round.

For eleven years she’d been a faithful friend, and a loving member of the family. Never complaining, always eager for attention...and yet happy just to lie at our feet, content to share the ups and downs of our lives—never judging us, her heart filled with nothing but love.

But over the years her steps gradually slowed on her walks, and the fur on her face started showing the gray of age. And sometime this year, her behavior started to change: barely noticeable at first, we came to realize that rather than perking up with joy when someone returned home, she had taken to lying quietly, more and more often. And though mealtime was still the highlight of her day, she had little energy for much of anything—not even the scrapes and fusses she used to cause, whenever someone came too close to her food bowl.

It turned out that Callie had cancer. And slowly, the dog that seemed like she’d been a member of the family forever was beginning to fade.

By Monday night, Callie had grown quiet, and wasn’t moving very much. Nonie, my wife, decided that we needed to take her in the next day, and wanted to spend the night with the dog whose biggest joy in life was being by her side. Not wanting to disturb the fading dog’s routine any more than necessary, she gathered a blanket and her favorite pillow to spend the night downstairs. Her husband, not wanting to see his wife spending such a sad time all by herself, volunteered to sleep on the couch near both of them. (This actually worked quite well—up until Nonie woke me up from a sound sleep at 2 am, with complaints about how hard it was to sleep on the couch. I hadn’t noticed; of course, I take many of my best naps there, so it’s just one of the many things around the house that passes under my radar. We spent the rest of the night back upstairs in bed, with Callie on the floor).

Tuesday, I stayed home from work to be around for support. Callie had an enthusiastic breakfast, and we decided to take her for a last walk around the block. The walk was slow—they’ve been getting slower bit by bit over the last year—but by the time we got back home, the old dog was showing a bit more life. And through it all, we were wondering whether we were doing the right thing...whether we might not have more time with her. But we concluded that we were delaying things more for ourselves than for this fading member of our family, and Nonie called the vet to make an appointment...only to discover that the vet wasn’t in. A family emergency had the doctor out of the office this week. We took it as a sign that death was in no hurry, and decided to wait.

Wednesday, Callie again enjoyed her meals, and though she didn’t show much energy, she seemed content and untroubled for most of the day.

This morning, she greeted breakfast with her usual glee...only to stop, half-way through, no longer interested. For a golden retriever, this wasn’t a good sign.

Unfortunately, Nonie and I both had things to do today: she had family business that needed attention this morning, and I had a big court argument. By the time Nonie returned home, it was obvious that things had taken a turn for the worse; where once the return of a family member was the occasion of joy, this time Callie just moved reluctantly out of the way...and then she lay down on the kitchen floor, and wouldn’t move. That’s when we knew we couldn’t wait any longer.

I returned home, and after some sad goodbyes, we loaded her into the car for her last trip. We took her on a last ride around the neighborhood, along the pathway she traveled many times, ending at the nearby field where she’d often run to her heart’s content. And then we took her for one last drive, to the doctor, gently stroking her ears as we drove, and never stopping until she’d taken her final breath.

It’s hard to lose a family member. It’s especially tough around Christmas; I lost two grandparents at this time of year, and it casts a pall over the entire season. But in the end, the soreness in the heart will fade. It will be the happy times that live in our memories, rather than the sadness that comes with parting.

Still, it’s amazing how many lessons we never learn until it’s too late. But there was one family member, now gone, whose short time on Earth tried to teach us that the greatest joy in life could be greeting someone who’s just come home; that the greatest gift is simply being close by; and that the heart often sings its happiest songs when someone you love notices you...and gives you a scrap or two of attention, amid the clutter of busyness that tends to take up so much of our lives.

It’s a lesson that at least one fallible human being in our family is still trying to learn.