Soulmates: Do They Exist?

Recently I came across this post, and I was intrigued because the concept of soulmates had been going through my mind for a bit. 

Carol and I were married for many years, and although there was great love there, we didn’t have the notion that we were each other’s soulmates, perhaps because there wasn’t an immediate spark.  She used to like to point out the fact that, before we met, she used to come to many of our concerts, and I would never see her, even at times when I’d walk right past her.  Her favorite instance was a party at our band’s singer’s house.   It wasn’t a big house, and there weren’t more than 30 people there, but even then, I never saw her there.

I do know the first evening we talked I thought about how much I enjoyed talking to her.  Did I walk away thinking I found my soulmate?  No, and I’m sure she didn’t either.  (Don’t get me wrong.  We did really love each other, and we were both sad when we realized it was time to part ways.)  I don’t know, but back then I didn’t really subscribe to the idea of a soulmate.  For years I didn’t, but I’ve been feeling something lately that has me wondering.

Having this feeling, I reached out to a number of people, both single and married, to hear their thoughts on whether soulmates exist or not.  It should come as no surprise that most single people have an idea that their soulmate is out there and hope to one day connect. 

As for the married folk, a majority say that they did not view their spouse as a soulmate when they first met, but as the years have passed in their marriage, they have come to realize they’re with the one they should be.  It feels to me as if they don’t want to admit that their spouse is not their soulmate.  That’s fine, because a lot of people don’t believe in soulmates, and also, because when you love someone and they love you back, it doesn’t matter about anyone else.

There were exemptions.  There were a few couples that said that they knew they were meant to be together the moment they connected. 

In talking with one individual, I was asked my thoughts on soulmates.  I told him that lately I’ve been feeling that there’s someone out there, and it’s a feeling that runs deep, beyond logic. 

I said, “I don’t want to overly romanticize this, but I feel like someone is out there, that she and I have been together since before time began, before the world was made.  Throughout the ages, we’ve been together, and have had times apart.  She’s been my crutch, and I’ve been her stretcher.  I’ve leaned on her when I’m weak, and when she’s been weak, I’d carry her, and it feels like that, at this moment in time, we’ve both been too weak to get to each other.”

After he commended me on a job well done in not overly romanticizing it, he asked if I’d know it the moment I met her.  I answered that I honestly didn’t know if I would. 

“If she’s your soulmate, wouldn’t you know it almost immediately?” he asked.

It’s a valid question, but it’s one posed to a nebulous subject.  I’m guessing that, based on the definition of soulmate, the answer to the question would be yes, but the very existence of soulmates is still in question.  Just because you feel a connection with someone doesn’t necessarily make them your soulmate. 

He then asked “Have you ever felt that kind of connection?” 

I answered him by saying that I did once, and it surprised me immensely.   It felt like I had met a kindred spirit, that she would understand me just as well as I’d understand her.  It felt like that, not only were we on the same page but, we were on the same paragraph, the same sentence.  For a few moments there, I thought, “Oh my God, have I actually connected with my soulmate?”

He asked me what happened, and I said that she told me that us being together wasn’t much of a win for her.  It was then that I realized I had erred ever so slightly in thinking I had possibly found my soulmate.

He had a good laugh at that one, and I laughed as well. 
I said, “I loved the honesty.  It was like she knew me well enough to not play games and instead got right to the point.”

I told him that’s why I don’t know if I’d recognize my soulmate immediately if we ever met.  There could be that kind of connection, but if it’s felt by only one of the two, then obviously they would not be soulmates. 
Or could they be?  

Perhaps most of these married couples have realized over time that the person they’ve spent their life with is their soulmate.  They may have not recognized it immediately, but as their love for each other grew, they knew there was no else in the world for them.  They’ve realized that no matter the struggles, the arguments, the disagreements, the differences, the obstacles and setbacks, there is no one else they’d rather have by their side but their spouse.  Perhaps that’s the closest thing to a clear definition of a soulmate.

As this next stage of life unfolds, at times I wonder if it’ll be with someone by my side.  I get the sense that if I do find someone, she and I will work on a number of things together.  Whether it be me helping her with her vision, or her helping me with my vision, or perhaps there’s so much synergy it would be a shared vision, I can see us building things, creating things, writing, whether it be musically, scripts or books.  

I don’t know if I’ll ever find her.  To be honest, I’ve hardly even looked.  I’ve felt that if my soulmate is out there, they’ll be little effort to find each other.  The mentality is that God will bring us together and we’d need to have the wisdom to recognize it when it happens.  In light of past relationships, it might be difficult to reconcile that concept, but you learn from your failures and fallings. 

Do I believe in the idea of soulmates?  

Well, if you based it on my thoughts that I don’t really have to look and that we’ll somehow find each other, you’d probably come to the conclusion that I do. 

Love and Relationships

A few days ago, a group of us had a discussion; the topic was love.  It started from a brief conversation that was had with someone at church, and the comment was made, “I love you, brother.”  That comment just felt too Christian-ese to the listener, too much of a church cliché, like when someone says they’ll pray for you as they slap you on the back and walk away. 

The thought that went through the listener’s head was, “How can you love me?  You don’t even know me,” and that started the discussion on whether there can be love when there’s no relationship.  The viewpoint was that if you loved someone, you were going to be in there life, that there would be relationship, and that absent that, there couldn’t be love.

One segment of the group didn’t totally agree with that position.  This segment, and it was me, said that it was possible to have love for someone without having relationship.  I asked if it was necessary to push your way into someone’s life and intrude in their space to prove that you love them.  I do my best to respect people’s time and space, and I’m a firm believer that if someone’s not interested in giving you their time, then they’re not really interested in you being in their space.    Making yourself available to whatever someone needs, whenever they need it, certainly there’s love there, wouldn’t you agree?  There are a number of people for whom I have love, who I have little contact with, but they still know, I believe, that if they ever needed anything, I’d be there in a heartbeat. 

After all, loving someone is wanting the best for them, and doing whatever is needed to attain that, even if that is merely being there only when you’re needed. 
Is that a cop-out? 
Is the act of establishing a close relationship with someone necessary for love to be involved? 

A segment of the group felt strongly that if you were going to show true love, then you were going to make huge efforts to be in their life, to know exactly what to provide when they’re in need.  There’s truth to that argument, and I won’t deny that, however, I couldn’t agree with the position that without relationship, there could be no real love.

The parable of the Good Samaritan had been brought up earlier in the conversation, and I circled back to it to prove my point.  Essentially, the parable was used to answer the question of who is our neighbor.  Yet, it was the follow up to the command to love your neighbor as yourself.  It’s clearly established that the Samaritan had no relationship with the injured man.  In fact, there was a history of animosity between the two entities.  However, the Samaritan was there in the man’s time of need. This parable was used to illustrate what it’s like to love your neighbor.  The Samaritan didn’t even know the man and yet gave of himself, and helped him overcome his ordeal.  The Samaritan gave of himself, his time, his resources to a man he did not even know.

Obviously, the parable was not intended to be used as a road map to how to avoid relationships and yet still give love.  It was used to highlight the point that you can love others, by giving of yourself, even to those you don’t even know.  It also hammers home the point that real love is the giving of yourself, your time, your resources without any expectation of reciprocity. 

Ultimately, the topic of the conversation became: 
Are Christians showing enough love to others? 
Have Christians, as a whole, failed in loving others? 
Are Christians merely giving platitudes when they say they’re going to keep someone in prayer?

There is a truth that relationships and love go hand in hand. 
Perhaps that’s what it is:  the deeper the relationship, the stronger love that can be shown. 

Yet, that shouldn’t be used to limit ourselves to the thought that there could be no love without relationship.  The Good Samaritan proved that some of the greatest acts of love can be shown to those that are not known to us.

Perhaps that’s the lesson for Christians during this time; at a time when people are afraid, at a time when people are in need for basic items, at a time when hope is fading. 

Have Christians, as a whole, in recent times, failed in showing love to others?  Perhaps.
Perhaps all that can change in this moment of history.

The Duplicitous Man

INTRO

If you personally know me, then you know this is quite unlike me to do such a thing.  I’m the one who tends to be rather private and will not divulge too much information about myself.  Whenever I’m talking with someone, I’m doing most of the listening.  I enjoy hearing people talking about their lives, their passions, their purpose, and I’ve found that most people appreciate that about me.  I will admit, however, if I’m talking about my vision or purpose, I will talk up a storm.  Although it may give a sense of who I am, it doesn’t give a great deal of insight into me as a person.  I guess the best analogy I can give is to say that if you asked me what car I drove, and I responded with the destination.  You know where I’m going, and by the destination you might have an idea as to what I’m driving, but it doesn’t give a clear description of the vehicle. 

So why am I doing this? 

Many years ago I was experiencing a time in which things were the most “perfect.”  I’m using perfect in quotations to denote that, although life has its problems and its issues, things were going very well.  I was married, had a nice home and was in the process of building something that, frankly was beyond my capabilities, but was the next step in what I had originally intended to build.  During this time, I was meeting new people, almost on a daily basis, and as I would get to know them, they would begin sharing their testimony with me.  I was hearing amazing stories of their battles, things they would have to overcome, struggles they faced and pain they had to endure, and how ultimately through God’s strength, they were able to persevere.  It was inspiring to hear of their strength, and yes, I know God’s strength pulled them through, but it takes a special character, a special fortitude to be able to withstand some of the things they had to go through.  I have to be honest and, as you might soon discover, the things through which I’ve gone are in no way near the level of trauma that a lot of people had to overcome.  I cannot stress that enough.  The “trauma” I have dealt with is minuscule in comparison to what hundreds of thousands and millions of people have had to endure during their lifetimes.   In doing this, I am pretty much publicly announcing how weak an individual I can be.  

But in listening to all these testimonies, I began making a comment, one that is most unwise.  I remember when I was younger, I heard a preacher make a comment about patience.  You may have heard it.  It pretty much stated that you should be most careful if you pray for patience.  In essence, if you’re stupid/brave enough to ask God for patience, He’s not going to just magically give it to you. You’re going to be going through some serious stuff to learn patience.

I can still hear his words, “So just make sure you’re really ready to go through some trials if you’re going to pray that prayer.” 

I have remembered that statement my whole life, and I would be like, “God, I’m good.  I’m trying to be as patient as I can.” 
And as smart as I was to avoid ever praying that, I took stupid to a whole other level by complaining that I didn’t have a testimony.  It’s not that I didn’t have a testimony.  It’s just that in comparison to what I was hearing, there just wasn’t much there.  So, yes, I stupidly verbally said that I didn’t have a testimony…….a number of times.

But here’s the little nugget that takes that stupidity into places so high few humans have even imagined.  I DON’T LIKE TALKING ABOUT MYSELF!  So who cares if I don’t have a testimony?   I’d rather not say it anyway.  What on earth was I thinking?  Obviously very little thinking was involved, you may say to yourself, and you would probably be right.  So why am I doing this? 

I few years ago I was reading a book that is inspirational.  Don’t ask me the name of it.  I don’t remember, and I don’t really remember much about what it said.  There’s a reason for that.  I’m not saying it was a bad book, but I found myself in an interesting line of thinking as I read it.  When I was reading it, I was in the middle of my biggest failure and so I was enjoying reading about the author’s mentality as he had overcome his failure.  And yes, there’s a certain comfort knowing that people have gone through what you’re going through, but something else struck me.  As I was reading it, I came to the realization (certainly not a brilliant stroke of genius observation) that, although the author had experienced what I was going through, he is no longer in that stage as I was reading it.  I had lost that sense of comfort.  Yes, he may have gone through it, but he’s enjoying his success right now, or else he’d never have a book.  Knowing that, I lost the connection, so I pretty much lost interest.

It got me to thinking that perhaps I should start a blog entitled, “In the Midst of Failure,” and detail my struggles, so that it could touch people who were, at that very moment, experiencing the same types of troubles.  So I started writing, but I just couldn’t bring myself to post it.  (Did I tell you I didn’t like talking about myself?) 

But a few things changed my mind.  The first was a meme, that I came across, that said, “Tell the story of the mountain you climbed.  Your words become a page in someone else’s survival guide.”  It really isn’t much more than an ad for an inspirational book, but there was something about the meme that just hit me.  I don’t know what it was.  Maybe it was just timing, or perhaps I was just in a different state of mind.  What began to put this in motion was when Facebook initiated their “Stories” feature, and I began to contemplate putting a streamlined version of “In the Midst of Failure” in that section.  I liked the concept because I would do it in a more artistic way, instead of just merely writing it.  I would do it in almost a comic book method, in that I would daily post some sort of artistic picture with a caption describing my life.  The other reason why I liked it is because the “Stories” are not permanent.  They post for twenty-four hours and then they disappear.  And for someone who is not at all used to sharing about himself, there was a sense comfort to that.  Yes, I’ve shared it and now it’s gone.  So I began to do that.  I have no idea if they were seen by anyone, and I take a bit of comfort in telling myself that nobody saw them.

As I did so, each day I posted, I listed each picture as a page, and I realized that each page could be a chapter as each caption was brief and can certainly be expounded upon.  But posting little pictures on Facebook was one thing.  Really going into detail about my life was an entirely different matter.  I was really uncomfortable about the thought of taking that step, and yet I was brought to the origin of how I got here in the first place.  I complained that I didn’t have a testimony, and now that God has provided me with one, it would make no sense to refrain from telling it.

You may ask, “How is this different from the inspirational book that you read?” 
You may be asking, “I’m in the midst of failure and you’re enjoying your success, so where do I find my comfort?”

It’s very simple.  This is not necessarily an inspirational book.  This highlights the journey of a very flawed man.  If I’m going to open myself up, then I’m going to have to go all the way.  You could take from this book what you’d like.  Perhaps you have some of the same tendencies, attitudes, feelings or characteristics, and this might serve as a warning.  Or perhaps it does inspire you to rise above who you are and become as God created you.  Whatever the case may be, you take from this whatever you can.  Like a painting, it’ll be open to interpretation.  In any event, I’m going to introduce you to the inner trappings of a man whose duplicitous nature feels like he deserves more while feeling unworthy to receive anything. 

In writing this, I’m going to write in the third person.  In fact, I just might label myself as the Narrator and comment on the character’s actions, feelings and moods.  In creating that distance, it gives me a false sense of security.  As false as the security may be, it enables me to reach into the deep of what is good and bad, light and darkness, genius and insanity.  That sentence right there may tell you about my lack of logical reasoning in this matter.  I am relying on a security that I know is false, and yet it’s real enough for me to take a jump.  They say the definition of insanity is doing the same things over and over and expecting a different result.  However, taking a leap, trusting in a net you know is not secure at all may be a better definition of insanity.

In any event, let us move forward.  Without further ado, I present the duplicitous man.

CHAPTER 1:  ISOLATED AND ALONE
In the midst of despair, isolated and alone, at 19, he tried to figure out his reason for living.

Narrator:  Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, young and old; come one, come all, big and small, short and tall, let me regale you by showing you the inner trappings of a man whose duplicitous nature feels like he deserves more while feeling unworthy to receive anything.  He’s a living contradiction, incongruous with himself.  He is the duplicitous man.

He stood in the living room of a house that was empty.  It had been his home for a few years, but he missed the home where he spent most of his childhood.  The comfort of home was no longer there.  It was a dwelling place, a very nice one at that, but his heart was not there.  The truth is his heart had been shattered to a point where he didn’t have a clue where the pieces were, and so he disconnected.

His younger brother would often call him a robot because there appeared to be no feelings emanating from him.  Though they weren’t visible, they were certainly there.  He was broken, so much so that he couldn’t deal with his emotions.  They had to be buried.  He could feel them eating at him, yet he wouldn’t be totally consumed by them. 

“This is not that bad,” he said aloud, his voice shattering the silence. 

NARRATOR:  If he were honest with himself he would agree that what he was going through was not that big a deal.  He had never known hunger.  He had never known thirst.  He had never been homeless.  He did not know abuse, nor did he experience anything less than growing up under the support of two loving parents. 

Much had changed in the last few years.  He thought of what it was like just a few years back, a childhood that was in no ways perfect, but one in which he had very few complaints.  If you’ve ever seen the show “The Wonder Years” or the movie “The Sandlot,” then you might have a glimpse into his childhood.  The fact is, growing up, he had three sets of friends.  Being young, he never fully appreciated it.  There’s that old line that says that you never fully appreciate something until you lose it.  He was certainly learning that lesson now.

His parents had become Christians when he four years old, and so going to church on a consistent basis became a way of life.  They got heavily involved, and so Sunday mornings, Sunday evenings and Wednesday evenings were spent at church.  It wasn’t a big church, three hundred people at its largest, but there were plenty of kids there that were his age. 

Just a Theory: A short journey to Lookin In (PART II)

Brief recap:
A number of years ago, a band was created by accident.  When I say accident, I just mean that there was never any intention to form a band.  A group of guys got together to perform at a show and then things happened where we found ourselves in a band.  It's a bit of a long story, and in one of our videos, I explain the whole thing.  One of these days I'll post that video, but on to where we are now.

So we recently got back together to see if we could shake off enough rust to hit the studio and record one of our tunes.
I'll just say this.  Practice went incredible, and it wouldn't surprise me one bit if all we needed were a few practices to be performance ready.

When we got into the studio, a few of us decided to jump on the drums.  I tend to do that any time I see drums.  At one time in my life I got to be a pretty decent drummer, but that was a long time ago.  In fact, there's a dirty little secret in Just a Theory, that can't be shared, because it would probably result in the beating of one member by another.

In any event, here's a short clip of Just A Theory's other "drummers."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jMpSHpO4M8

Just a Theory: A short journey to Lookin In (PART 1)

Weeks ago, the guys from JUST A THEORY got together.  It's been years since we've been together, so this day was to see if we knew one of our tunes well enough to hit the studio.  There's one aspect of one of the band members that was a constant during our playing days and still remains.  This video touches on it a bit as we have some fun with it.

https://youtu.be/kAOM4yEwdgg

Years ago, my friends and I formed a band and called it JUST A THEORY   
We played for years and had a blast, but it's been a while since we played.
In a little while we'll be going into the studio to record one of our songs.
We're filming it and be sharing our short journey (because we have no idea how
it's going to turn out)
If you're curious on what's going to happen, join the club.
It'll be a short ride, but it ought to be interesting.

Farewell Puppy

                I never intended to have a dog, pretty much for the same reasons why I never expected to have a kid.  With my schedule, my work, and in all honesty, my selfishness, I knew I wouldn’t have the time or give enough attention that would be needed to make that child or dog happy.  But in 2000, I got one.  I didn’t go searching for one, she sort of fell into our laps.  She was given to my mother-in-law because the owner couldn’t care for her.  My inlaw didn’t have the room for her, but wanted to make sure the pup had a life.  The times I would visit, the pup, a beautiful collie/sheepdog, would be in a fenced in area in the backyard.  It was a big area, but I could feel the solitude.  She was so sweet.  I would go the fence and gently pet her and look into those beautiful eyes.  I honestly spent more time with the dog than I did visiting the family.  It was never easy leaving. 

                After much consideration, we decided to bring her home.  Despite my fears of not being able to give her the attention she so desperately wanted, I knew we’d be able to give her more than she was receiving at that time.  Plus she would have a much bigger backyard in which to roam, so I knew she would be happier.  (This really isn’t easy for me.  At this very moment of writing, except for the last paragraph, she is still with us.  I feel it’s only a few weeks, and I wanted to write this now because I won’t be able to afterwards).  She immediately took to her new home.  As if she’d been imprisoned, she took to her backyard with glee and her inquisitive nature had her roaming all over.  She was in heaven.

                The years flew by and there are so many movies in my head where she’s the star.  Lined along the perimeter of our backyard, right next to wall, were all kinds of trees and plants.  There wasn’t really a way to get back there in some places, especially for humans, but she had made herself a little path, right along the perimeter.  Maybe it was sheepdog in her, an instinct to ensure that everything was safe, but she would walk that path every now and then.  She would walk that path, and then stop at a lavender plant and smell.  She loved smelling that plant, just standing there for a few seconds to enjoy its aroma, and then continue her walk. 

                There was a time in my life where I would go out back and run lines.  Not rehearse a script, for all my actor friends out there, but in basketball practice, you’d start at one line, run to the next and run back, and continue to the next furthest line and back.  It wasn’t easy at first, because she would run with me and sometimes get in my way.  She learned quickly to make sure she was out of the way, and before long she would just go to her blanket and sit down to watch me. 

                She was a hunter.  Lizards, birds, gophers, you name it, she hunted it and there were quite a few times we’d find one of those dead near her house.  She loved catching lizards, but hated the taste.  There were a few times when we would see her catch one and she’d make such a face afterwards, we’d laugh.  Watching her go into hunting mode was so cool.  She’d be sitting there and then all of a sudden, her ears would perk up and her eyes would hone in on a lizard on the wall.  Slowly getting up, she’d sit still for several minutes, then slowly take one step.  Focused and intent, she stayed for a few moments, and then take another step.  I swear it would be a ten minute exercise.  Moving as stealthily as possible, she would close in on her prey and then pounce.  More often than not, the prey escaped, but she had her fair share.

                She was also a bit of a snob.  She loved playing ball, but only a few times.  After getting the ball a couple of times, she was done.  She would either stop going after the ball, or pick up the ball and go into her house.  Talk about grabbing your ball and going home, she was over it.  One time, my friend kept pulling the ball out of her mouth and throwing it.  I guess she liked that ball because she would go get it, but would not go back to him.  He then followed her and did it again.  This time she chased the ball down and ran into her house.  It was a big house, and she went in there deep, so unless you got on your knees, you couldn’t see her.  Anyhow, my friend reached in and started reaching for the ball.  I can still see this, but from my angle all I saw was her paw come out and slap his hand. 

                Her snobbishness was also seen when we tried to bring her a friend.  We thought that maybe she was lonely, so we brought her a companion.  By this time it was about 2007, so she had 7 years of having the backyard to herself.  She did not take to that poor dog at all.  That poor dog was so friendly and wanted love so badly, and my Pup wouldn’t give her the time of day.  The dog would follow her, but Pup hardly acknowledged her.  That dog was bigger and more high maintenance and after a few days, we realized it wasn’t going to work.  They were already starting to get territorial, so we gave that dog away.  Yes, Puppy was a snob.

                She was also very smart.  For the longest time, she was strictly outdoors, but that changed after a few thunderstorms.  Poor thing, she got so frightened with those and fireworks.  I didn’t realize how much until one day when we were leaving in the morning, and opening the front door, found her right there.  She had been so scared, she clawed her way through the fence and huddled right against the front door.  I felt so bad.  I didn’t even hear the thunder, and she was so quiet, she never barked unless there were strangers around.  From then on, she would come inside, and she knew how to work it.  Not allowed on the furniture, she would get a bit scared and jump into my lap, knowing I was not about to push her off.  That accomplished, she had access to the furniture as well.  Eventually she had her own chair.  But sleeping outside, she knew when it was time to go to bed when I’d turn off my cell phone.  She’d hear that sound, she’d walk over to the door.  In the last years of living at that house, we’d leave the door to the garage just a bit ajar, and she’d walk over to it and with her paw, open the door and walk into the garage where she’d have access to the outside through her doggie door.  She would walk in and out whenever she wanted. 

                In the last few months, she began dragging her back paw from arthritis, and being 15, there wasn’t much we could do.  Some medicine to help ease the pain, but that’s about all we could do.  We would put a sock on that paw so she wouldn’t scrape and bleed.  Fully indoors for the past few years, we would go out back occasionally to walk around.  Walking behind her as she limped has not been easy.  I can still see her when I would come home and she would jump all over.  I would say, “Let’s run” and we’d take off in the back, running all over the yard.  She would run behind the shed and come tearing out, running with and past me.  Now, limping around the pool, she’ll stop and catch a glimpse of a lizard.  The hunter in her springs up, but though the spirit is there, the body isn’t, and she moves on. 

                That was my Ladie.  That was her given name, though I’d rarely call her that.  She was always Puppy, and she would listen.  Like a parent, if I used her given name, she was in trouble.  About 6 years ago, my wife would say that she’s not a puppy anymore and that she’s getting old, but I would resist such talk.  But I knew she spoke truth, and the past few months, that has shown that to be even more apparent.  She wouldn’t turn when I’d call her, and though she was a snob, I knew wasn’t ignoring me, but that her hearing was beginning to go, especially after she had no problems with recent thunderstorms and fireworks. 

                The past few months have been hard.  As I’ve seen her body wearing down, I have many regrets.  I wish I had given her more time, more attention.  I wish I wouldn’t scare her during Laker games when I’d yell at the TV.  I wish I’d have just had her indoors since day one.  She was the sweetest thing who loved pizza and carrots, who was so happy when I’d come home, who, in this last year, would try to herd us away from the door to keep us from leaving, who gave us the first indication that there was a ghost in our house (that’s another blog entry), and who was always curious on what we were doing.  She was my Pup, and she knew it.  I couldn’t say no to her.  There was so much sweetness in her eyes that I wanted her to be happy.

                Today I had to put my Pup down.  All I wanted to do was drop her at the vets and leave.  But there’s no way I could do that.  She hated that place, and I didn’t want her last moments to be all alone in a place she hated.  Last night she got everything she loved; her treats, pizza, yogurt, and ice cream.  And it was so hard this morning because she was so alert, her ears up and checking out everything.  But I could see the pain, and she could no longer walk, so carrying her into a room where I’d last see her was something I did for her:  to end her pain and to be with her in her final moments.  And as I held her, in those final moments as she laid down, her eyes, those beautiful eyes that would look at me with so much love, those eyes that would curiously look at everything around her, the life drained from those beautiful eyes and I knew my time as a dog owner was done.  I’m not going to say anything inane as I have a sense of parenthood, and I don’t have a clue on animals and the afterlife.  All I’ll say is that when she first came to our house she ran around like she was in heaven, and I hope that when her life slipped from my arms, she began running in heaven.  

Goodbye my Pup, you were the absolute best.