Misty Afternoon

Me this afternoon in the cemetery of St. Mary's Catholic Church in Rockville, Maryland, with the grave of F. Scott Fitzgerald behind me (to the right of my chin in the photo) and an assisted-living facility my siblings and I are considering for our parents in the background.

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

How Can a House Feel So Quiet When the One Who's Gone Made So Little Noise?

I sent this e-mail today to some people in my life:

I want to let friends and family know that Charlie, my beagle, passed away last night. He had been ill for many months with what turned out to be liver disease. It took a dramatic turn for the worse yesterday, and after a difficult afternoon and evening of consultations and decisions, we decided that this was the time. S. and I and Patsy, Charile's terrier cohort, were with him.

Charlie and Patsy came into our lives on the same day seven and a half years ago. Anyone who has met Charlie knows of his presumably difficult early life before we adopted him -- the physical evidence of life in a research lab. Anytime we got mad at him for his stubbornness or sometimes unorthodox dog skills, all we had to do was remember what he had been through in his formative years. S. and I were glad to have given him a happy and peaceful life -- both together and apart -- and he gave us years of smiles and comfort in return.

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