Finality

NukeBoy2 and Phoebe-May 09

The weekend started out good.  I accompanied NukeBoy2 to an overnight camp out with his scout den.  NukeBoy1 tagged along and we had a great time.  It was the first time I had been camping in over 20 years, and a first for the NukeBoys.  They loved it.  NukeBoy1 and I will be heading to the mountains later this month with his entire scout troop for a 3 night camp out that should make your Irish Spring stock go up.  I’m taking an extra bar just to stick in my sleeping bag, that way I can shower while I sweat.  We got to christen our new tent and that helped us appreciate the benefits of waterproofing.  It sprinkled over night, and the oversight of not venting our tent resulted in a rainstorm inside the tent in the morning.  Three human bodies in a closed tent mixed with the rising sun and 60% humidity equals wet walls.  We left it up to let it dry out and came back for it later.  So did 2 or 3 other “veteran” camping families, so I didn’t feel too bad.

The scouts performed a flag retirement ceremony over the campfire and I was taken by the words that were spoken.  Here stood 12 eager 8 and 9 year olds reading the words off of the cards they were holding, each of them clutching a stripe from a flag.  As each of the Original 13 states were named, another stripe went on the fire.  The scout would salute, then back away to allow the next scout to step forward with his stripe.  You can find the script they used here.  Towards the bottom there is an Optional Opening that gives a different perspective of the flag and what it means; or, used to mean.  It left me feeling a little pensive and lost in thought.  Just one day earlier I had recounted a story about one of my favorite teachers who, unbeknownst to me, had passed away last summer, so I guess the feeling of melancholy was to be expected, right?

When we got home Saturday I went and picked up a pallet of sod to repair our backyard.  This was pallet number 2.  Pallet number one was moved, laid and completed on Thursday; my body barely had time to recover before the second onslaught.  I had help on Thursday, but I was solo on Saturday; and boy, did my muscles feel it.  While I was laying the sod, I noticed that our 13 year old lab Phoebe was struggling more than usual to get around.  Her hips are bad and she had been slowly deteriorating over the last year or so.  By late afternoon, she could barely make it up the steps.  That night I heard her bark from the den, and when I went out to see what was the matter, I saw her trying to drag herself to the back door.  She couldn’t even stand up on her own.  I helped her up and she  made it outside, but balked at the steps off of the deck.  I picked her up and carried her to the grass to do her business, but her hips couldn’t even hold her up to do that.  Things didn’t get any better on Sunday, in fact, they got worse, so when I took her to the Vet early Monday morning I was prepared for the worst.  Or at least I thought I was.  She was obviously in pain and there was nothing they could do for her.  NukeMom and I had talked it over the night before, and I told the Vet that we needed to put her down.  I sat with her for a while and did my best to make her last moments good ones.  The Vet asked me if I wanted to leave the room and I told him no.  I owed Phoebe that much.  I can honestly say that it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.  When they asked me what I wanted to do with her body I was taken aback; I hadn’t even thought about it.  The Vet explained that all animals are cremated, and would I like to have the ashes?  I almost said no, but then decided yes.  I didn’t know why I said yes, I just said it.  When the kids got home from school I got to live it all over again.  NukeBoy1 took it well, but I knew that he would.  NukeBoy2 loves animals, especially his.  He was devastated.  NukeGirl was the same.  I held them and tried to comfort them, and when I told them about the ashes and that we could do something special for Phoebe, NukeBoy2 suggested putting them in the garden they are about to plant.  I knew then why I had said yes when they asked me if I wanted the ashes.

To top it all off I came across something else today.  Don’t they say that bad things come in threes?  Through a series of events that would take too long to explain (you all know that I’m a stickler for brevity-cough, cough), I discovered that an old school mate of mine was killed in 2002.  That isn’t what threw me, though; the story his sister told about it did.  We had played football together.  He was a crazy wild man who was wickedly intelligent, but he sometimes talked and acted like a loon.  His father is fairly infamous as well; he was the first Abortionist ever convicted of murdering a fetus. (THIS LINK CONTAINS GRAPHIC CONTENT) While he was out on bail awaiting appeal, he performed and botched another abortion that killed the mother.  Not a lot of positive things happening in that family.  I guess it just hit me that while I thought that Regan could go either way in life, I never imagined him choosing the path that he did.  I just know that I’ve been beat over the head with unhappy endings and finality the last week or so and I’m ready for a Spongebob marathon.  Or will that change the saying to bad things come in fours?