Knocking Some Sense Into Me

It had rained for a few days straight and I’m not sure who was going crazier, the kids, the dog, or me. My frustration was growing on a number of levels; the kids kept sitting zombie-like, staring at the TV; the dog had pulled up and chewed one of the newly installed sprinkler heads; and I was trying to get the house together and pack for the upcoming weekend. While my husband and daughter delivered my son to his first sleep-away camp, I would be headed to Connecticut to join my father, brothers and sister to commemorate what would have been my mother’s 79th birthday. Already, a year and four months had elapsed since Mom passed away, and we were planning to secure a final resting place for her ashes. The problem was, despite a few rounds of emails, none of us had any idea what we would actually do with her ashes. Furthermore, while we were all in town, we needed a plan on what chores the four of us could do around the too-big house Dad still maintained. I didn’t want to even imagine sitting around, depressed, staring at my siblings for two days and doing nothing.
“Ahhh…the sun is out!” I yelled to the zombies. “I’m taking the dog to the beach.” And I was out the door before I could hear a response. Finally, alone at the rocky “Dog Beach,” balancing on low-tide mussel shells and seaweed, I felt I could breath. I tossed a stick into the ankle deep water and Indy frolicked and danced, eventually returning the stick, dropping it next to my muddy, absorbent sneakers. “Go, get the stick!” I encouraged. But after a few rounds the pup lost interest, so I began to head back toward dry land; that is, until Indy noticed my departure and romped toward me with an eager face that pleaded, “Please…don’t make me go home.” I could totally relate.
So I bent down to pick up a shell, and in her eagerness, Indy went for the shell as well. But she pulled up suddenly and hit my face full-force with the back of her big, square, solid-bone Labrador Retriever head. “Ow!” I reacted; reaching for my nose that I was sure would be spouting blood momentarily. “Ow, ow, ow!” I moaned. My nose was reverberating in the back of my head. Pain shot down my neck. My jaw was throbbing. It friggin’ hurt!
Still holding my nose and still reeling from the hit, I began to whimper and tears overflowed from my watery eyes. I looked around the deserted beach and, realizing no one could hear me, I started to cry louder – though I was in pain, the crying felt, well … good. As the pain began to ease to a dull throb, I decided to really go for it. I actually started to sob, right there on the beach. No one could hear my bawling. Not a sole was around to respond to my greedy intake of air between each noisy bout of blubbering. The dog just sat and stared at me quizzically. Feeling the release, I went on, quite hysterically, for a few minutes.
As I finally began to calm down, I realized what I had been crying about, and from where this deep well of emotion had bubbled up. It was simple, really. I missed my mom. I missed telling her about the kids and dog driving me crazy. I missed having her make decisions, telling my siblings and I what would be on the agenda for the weekend. I missed her as much as I did the day she died, and I knew I would always miss her in a painful and dramatic way. I guess I just needed a knock on the head to remind me how I felt. My histrionics on the beach were very cleansing, I decided. And, as I walked toward home, I knew I was ready to move on again.
“Thanks, Indy,” I told my tail-flapping buddy as we left the beach. “I needed that.”