Is one of the steps in grieving bitterness?
A perfectly nice man's perfectly nice dog ran up to us again. She's very old, white-faced, deaf, has had repeated strokes. She's happy, silly, and full of life.
I can't help but be bitter when I see these nice creatures, because all I can think is, "Why did sweet happy Price have to go through such a bad end? Why is this dog still alive after she's been through so much?"
There is, of course, no "Why." Shit happens. This only makes sense if there is no god. Because if there were, he's an undipt pinhead, nasty, brutal, with a short memory.
Dogs and humans seem to wander along for years after strokes, heart attacks and rheumatism. Horses and cats seem to be well all their lives -- and then collapse, quickly and often horribly. Dogs fade and give us a chance. Felines rip our hearts out. Dogs don't hurt any less, but they seem to bitch-slap us less. This is just me thinking with a keyboard, nothing more.
2 comments:
I recognize the rage. A couple of weeks after my ex-husband died (a complicated relationship, and I was the only one seeing him through it) I shot-put a cheap vase all the way across the back yard. No one understood why I was screaming.
I do. Do I ever.
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