OK, after I wrote that post yesterday evening, something crazy happened. My cat was mewing to come in the back door but when I let her in she went shooting through my legs like she’d seen a ghost…more like the Hound of the Baskervilles. When I looked out to see what was bothering her I saw a dog run through our back yard, and I realized it was Jake’s dog, Milo.
Let me start though with what was going on before that. I had just finished writing last night’s blog post and I went in to the living room to talk to Chris. He was playing his soccer video game that I can’t interrupt so I just sat there with the iPad. I was feeling kind of anxious. I hadn’t been feeling anxious for a long time but I think this weird regression thing with Zoe and also the approaching anniversary of Meliah’s passing is starting to severely mess with me. I thought about taking an Ativan and mentioned this to Chris. Then I told him that I might get a beer from the fridge because I had never heard of anyone having an anxiety attack while drunk before. I’m not a big drinker. Beer gives me a headache but I really try and stay away from the beta blockers as they work so well calming the grief and peeling the squeezing fist away from my heart, that I crave them. Anyway, so I was on my way to get a beer to try that route, when I heard my cat mewing in the back yard and that is when I went and saw Jake’s dog.
So I went out of the back door after Milo and shut it, then hurried off into the dark calling to Milo in a hissing type of whisper. But he kept going around the side of the house and he squeezed through the front gate like Houdini. I opened the gate to follow him, to try and catch him and get him back to Jake somehow, but there was Jake, standing under the gold streetlamp out front of our house. Milo just ran up to Jake and I saw Jake slip him a dog treat. So I drew in a breath and walked up to Jake and said hello with a nice smile.
I wrote a long, detailed, awesome story about what happened next because I was so excited about it. The gist of it is that Jake really wanted to make sure I was OK and didn’t know how to get me to come and talk to him. So he plotted to have Milo run around my yard to get my attention somehow. I’m glad Milo didn’t eat my cat.
Jake was really sorry about hitting me in the head and the hospital. But he said that he couldn’t stop thinking about me. He wanted to see my cut and he put his fingers on the stitches and it was like an electric current running through me just from his fingers brushing against my skin for a moment.
I think I’ll post a piece of the story tomorrow night. It has our dialogue in it. But I want to end this post by saying when I went back in the house, glowing like the street lamp, I didn’t need any beer or Ativan and I realized that the most frighteningly effective drug for my grief, is Jake.