Today is a day of celebration and of sadness. Births and deaths. And even anniversaries.
Today
is my Dad's 71st birthday. A consistent smoker of over 55 years, he found out 2 months ago that he had bladder cancer. We also found out that smoking is a number one contributor to that type of cancer. He quit smoking and today he is, thankfully, in remission. I'm grateful for his 71st birthday. Here's hoping that he has many, many more birthdays and that he never picks up another darn cigarette. Happy Birthday, Dad.
Today
is also my boss, Joan's, birthday. If it weren't for Joan, I believe that I wouldn't be at ABC today. She is one of the warmest and most caring people I know and I'm so thankful that I have a staff position in an industry that mostly hires freelancers. ABC is making enormous cuts this month, and I found out this week that Joan is going to be one of the people leaving our company. I wish her the best on her new endeavors and I hope she knows there will be a void that can't be replaced when she leaves.
Today
is also Tommy's and my 2nd anniversary. Two years ago we met on a rainy night at a bar on 7th and A called Niagra. I was getting over a really bad cold and confided in him that I had a childhood dog who's death I still hadn't gotten over 7 years after she had died. He confided in me that he didn't drink. I, on antibiotics, he, on sobriety, ordered cranberry and seltzers all night at 7B. Tonight we revisited that bar and relived some of those first moments. I am so happy how our relationship has evolved and the best friend that he has become to me.
Today
is also the day that my parent's put our 18 year old dog, Hobo, to sleep. He was very old, hard of hearing, had very limited vision, weak back legs, and a wobbly walk.
The days of him leaping up on my bed in the morning to wake me up ended about 6 years ago when his agility began to fade. The days of him speaking on command ended about 4 years ago when his hearing deteriorated. The days of him being able to walk up the stairs on his own ended about 2 years when his balance wavered. But the love that my parents had for him never wavered. They cared for that little dog as if he were their own child-- cooking him fresh chicken with vegetables every day, carrying him up and down the stairs, giving up vacations so that they could stay home to take care of him in his senior days, and limiting errands so that they could get home and let him outside. And as if those tasks weren't unglamorous enough, in the end, the poor little guy couldn't even make it outside, so they went through rolls and rolls of paper towels. It was not an easy job, but they did it because they loved Hobo. And because of that love, he lived a very full life. Possibly, even past his expiration date.
My parents have been taking our dogs to the same veterinarian's office for close to 30 years. But today, when my parents made the difficult decision to put Hobo to sleep, my mom went into the phone book and picked a random vet's office. She told me on the phone that she didn't want him to recognize the formidable office where he has been poked and prodded for years. She didn't want him to feel that familiar anxiety that leads to uncontrollable shaking. Alas, he was ignorantly blissful in those last few moments at the new vet's office, just as he has been for the past couple of years.
Hobo. There are questions as to the origin of the word that we know to mean "bum" or "tramp". It is said that it could derive from "Hoe-boy" (meaning "farmhand") or be an acronym for "Homeward Bound". I'd like to think that it means the latter. Hobo, you are finally homeward bound. Enjoy being young again. I hope you find Lady in heaven. We'll miss you.
