I'll start with the old. On March 12th, 1990, Lee died. Technically my father through adoption, I now think of him as my stepfather or just "Lee." He was also my abuser for 13 years. Good riddance. That death isn't so hard to deal with.
On March 9th and 10th, 1997, my maternal grandparents, Edward and Evelyn Carl died. They died within twenty-four hours of each other of natural causes. Nana went first, followed by Papa. I still miss them both. Some other time, I'll write more about them.
Now the new. On February 26th, our dog, Jackjob, died. Jack was a 12- or 13-year-old German Shepard mix. We got him from a rescue; he'd been found wandering the median on Route 1 in Raleigh. Jack was friendly but his bark was ferocious--exactly the kind of dog I wanted with two adolescent girls in the house. He loved to play tug but would look at us like we were out of our minds if we tossed a ball for him to chase. "Excuse me. Did you mistake me for a retriever? Perhaps you need glasses."
Jack loved his walks. We picked him up from the rescue before he had been treated for heartworms; he got the treatment several weeks later. For those of you who don't know, after the treatment the dog has to stay sedentary for about six weeks as the heartworms die, decay, and are absorbed. Jack did not like being sedentary. At all. He had been getting walks for several weeks, and suddenly he was without them--and worse, locked in a crate most of the time. Not fair! Being a softy, I would sometimes let him out of his crate to wander the house, as long as he didn't get excited. Once, I did this and then forgot he was out. When I opened the back sliding glass door to put something on the deck, out he went! I called him and he ignored me, so I grabbed a handful of treats and his leash, hoping to catch him. As I ran out the door barefoot, I yelled to Carl to get the car--Jack loved rides almost as much as walks. Jack wouldn't come when I called, and he wouldn't stop when I threw treats trying to get his attention. He would pause, teasing me into thinking he was going to wait, and let me get within about ten feet before he set off again. He took exactly the route we had been going for his daily walks. When he got the normal end of his walk, he stopped and wagged his tail at me, letting me catch up...finally. After he had had his walk. Carl pulled up at this point, and still wagging his tail, Jack got into the car.
We are missing Jack terribly. The way he would push his head under my feet as I was trying to get my socks and shoes on in the morning. The way he would wait until Carl came to bed before coming up because he knew he could get treats from Carl, but not from me. The way he would insist on watching any bones we gave him. The way he would stand in the entryway to greet anyone coming home. The way he would light up when Carl brought up a chicken from the freezer, and the way he absolutely could not be distracted when the chicken turned into a superchicken at Thanksgiving. The way he would blow his coat in February and October, never quite getting the hang of New England seasons. The way he would push against my chair so hard that if I didn't have my feet planted I'd end up across the room. The way he claimed the library, the only room on the first floor with carpeting. That's where we are keeping his ashes until we decide where to spread them.
And then one more. On March 8th or 9th, I'm not sure which, my internet friend, Christopher Marg died of a heart attack. He was only in his early 30s. I met him through World of Warcraft and had known him for about four years. I don't believe in exaggerating the positives of someone just because they are dead, but Christopher was a sweet man in many ways; online he was generous to a fault. And he got lost in the game no matter how many times he'd been there before. I actually got to have dinner with him when I visited where he lived in Minneapolis, which is where I found out that his lack of direction was not an in-game foible. Our ride home from dinner took a bit longer than anticipated because he had trouble figuring out how to get back to my hotel. I miss hearing his voice online and seeing his boomkin in my way in instances and raids.
This time of year was hard before these past few weeks. Now it's harder. I miss you, dear ones.
