Turn Your Face to the Sun

Turn your face to the sun and the shadows will fall behind you. – Maori proverb

This has been a difficult day, without question. Since Wednesday, I’ve been limping around with some unidentified pain in my abdomen, the sort of pain that shouldn’t go on for days on end, the kind of pain that makes you anxious. If I am very still, it’s not too bad, so I try to be very still as much as possible.  When I finally crawled out of bed this morning, I swore in pain with every step I took, dreading the day ahead of me.

Today was the day we were to take little Holly, our foster Boston Terrier, to meet her prospective adopters. I was going to drive over to Columbus by myself to do this, but it didn’t take me long to figure out I wasn’t up to it. Going to the computer to get the telephone number of the couple we were meeting, I saw there was a message from a friend. It wasn’t good news. A wonderful man, a great friend to many, Mr. Tom Crosley, had died this morning of an apparent heart attack.  One friend had seen him Thursday, another just yesterday. He was expected to be at the Dayton Kennel Club puppy match tomorrow. How could it be that he was suddenly not here. How could he just be gone?  It’s the kind of news that knocks the breath out of you.

Rain poured down all day, matching my sad heart and achy, broken body. My dear husband drove us to Columbus in the rain. The couple was pleasant. They seemed to like the dog and Holly was relaxed and happy around them. We’ve had this dog since the beginning of November. She’s an interesting character, and not the easiest personality. Yet we have grown to enjoy her immensely. I have loved her. But she deserves a home all to herself with her own people to dote on her. And yet, I saw the look on her face when she realized that we were walking out the door, and we were not taking her with us. Perhaps she had forgotten by the time we got to the car, turned her attention elsewhere. It was just as well that my husband drove; I was so undone by letting go of Holly that I might still be sitting in a parking lot gazing into space.

It has been a very difficult day, but I must stop feeling sorry for myself. At least I am still able to let the rain wash the tears from my face. The twinge in my gut reminds me I’m alive. As long as the sun comes up in the morning, there is still hope, isn’t there?

Target number for today was 63.  I walked 6164 steps, very quietly.  Today’s menu included scrambled eggs and toasted ciabatta, Brown cow yogurt with granola, rice pudding with ground nutmeg (I love nutmeg) 3 tiny chocolate eggs, a cup of House LoMein from the wonderful Moy’s Restaurant in Columbus, and a cup of their exquisite scrambled eggs and shrimp. We drank tea and I ate my fortune cookie: “Your future is whatever you make of it, so make it a good one.”

We’ll miss you, Tom.

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5 thoughts on “Turn Your Face to the Sun

  1. We fostered a stry pitbull/terrier mix for four months in 2009. When we said goodbye, my husband got choked up and teary-eyed, the first time I’d seen this in the 25 years I’ve known in. I took comfort knowing we were excellent foster parents who found Morgan an excellent “forever home.” Still hurt a lot, though. Take care of yourself and your health.

    • Thank you, Jane. We foster quite a bit, and generally I have a warm and fuzzy feeling that didn’t come this time. On the other hand, we had Holly longer than most, and there is something about her terrible, awful, bad girl personality that is endearing.

  2. Oh my goodness – you have had quite a few deaths in your life this month – I am sorry to hear this – you must still be reeling from the others as well…

    I hope the abdominal pain gets resolved…sending you warm thoughts.

  3. My friend Valryn died three years ago today. I have great difficulty dealing with this. I feel betrayed – partly because when this happened, things were not great between us. She had suffered a great deal of emotional duress over the past decade and had talked of suicide often. But she didn’t commit suicide – she dropped dead driving to work. I miss her but I am angry with her.

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