July is a terrible month for me or at least it has been for the last decade of so. I lost my beloved Newfie, Jackson, five years ago today and ten years ago on July 27th I lost my beloved father. I would like to remember them as they were, as pals, not just to me but to each other.
In a conversation last week with a friend I mentioned how it seems to take a 2-3 years to get over a major loss. For the longest time after my father passed away I couldn't really function normally. I had foolishly moved away from my little Northern California town to Southern California where I was miserable. I was living at the beach which wasn't all it was cracked up to be considering that this beach was crowded, noisy and polluted.
The Summer of '42 it wasn't. I despised where I lived so there was no point in looking for work as I didn't want to become tied to a job in a place that made me crazy. But I couldn't afford to live in California anymore as the rents were just outrageous. I was single and everyone knows that California is a two income state, maybe three. So I was stuck. The feeling of paralysis was all consuming. I would lay on the floor of my apartment only venturing outside three times a day to allow Jackson his bathroom breaks. I shopped at the one dollar store to stretch the dwindling resources and I remember how difficult it was to drag myself out to the car to make that weekly trip to the grocery store. It was safe in my apartment. With the Sci-Fi network as my only diversion I would lay on that floor and congratulate myself for the most meager of tasks. If I made lunch it was a major accomplishment, so was taking Jackson outside. There were times when I would walk down to the beach at night and scream at the stars "
Where are you? You can't be gone!" As if my tears would bring back my parents. My mental state even cost me some of my reputation as an actor. On the national tour of a play I was barely able to concentrate on the stage work at hand, a role I'd wanted to play for years. I used to be so confident, so fearless. I haven't acted since.
It was only when I bought a house out of state, in Ohio, that was when the fog started clearing. It gave me purpose, a way to circumvent the paralysis I'd been subject to for two years. I thank my lucky stars I had Jackson to keep me company through all this. If he hadn't been there to keep me grounded I don't really know where I'd be right now. I distinctly remember how motivated I was when I knew that this house was mine. The fog had cleared, the paralysis had evaporated. I was a dervish around the apartment as I began packing. Moving day was a month away but I started right in by cleaning and organizing my belongings.
But back to my original thought. How long does grief last? When does it become impossible to shed a tear for someone after so many tears have been already cried? I'm going to go out on a limb here and say three years. That seems to be the amount of time it took for me to get beyond my grief for both my father and Jackson. As I mentioned
here Jackson was as much Pop's dog as my own. Losing both of them was hard but I can no longer weep for them. I
can however remember them fondly and smile whenever I think of them. I can laugh when I think of that shitty grin Pop would give me or of the time when Jackson ate my sandwich when I wasn't looking. I can remember everything now. I am free.
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