HappyPlatypus's Journal

The frozen smiles beaming out at me from our wedding photos seem more like accusing grimaces now, and the joyful extended family moments captured on film seem more like a mockery than a celebration of life. Oh, but did these poor fools only know, at the moment these photos were snapped, what woes were in store for them, would they have smiled or laughed or chortled? Would they, could they -- should they -- have rejoiced in that fleeting moment free of pain and sadness?

Or should they have even bothered? What's the point of joy when it is so shortlived, anyway?

Counterpointlessness?

Then again, if not for the valleys, the peaks would not provide vistas that take our breath away. The pain, in essence, almost defines the joy in playing counterpoint, providing the sour to its sweet, singing bass to its alto. It's just a matter of enduring that long, dark trek in between peaks.

But how dark it is. I try, God how I try to be positive. Some people seem to fall into positivity as naturally as I fall down the stairs, which seems to happen once a day anymore. I bring new meaning to the term grace under pressure.

People talk about seeing the world as glass half full or glass half empty, and frankly, I envy the half-empty folk. Am I the only one who it seems, some days, has a glass that's shattered on the floor?

And who has, it appears, stepped on the damn shards?

Bare foot?

I kid, of course.

What Our Parents Warned Us About

But I've been thinking about the Todd that Was and the Todd that Is and the Todd that Will Be, and how the Todd that Has M.S. and Diabetes will, like the Bad Influence in the shadows our parents warned us about, affect the future.

My wife and I have been re-watching the entire Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel TV series on DVD lately. We're big fans, me more so than she, and if you've not become an addict, I recommend you do so with all haste. But my wife much prefers watching DVDs to talking, debating and waxing philosophical late into the night, something of which I've always been fond. Poor wifey. She married a dork.

The silence that has fallen between us in just two years of marriage lies thick as that in the mausoleums in Buffy on the TV. It's as if the first symptom of my diseases and her disability was our sudden inability to communicate. The silence has inserted itself into our relationship, a fifth wheel, the third corner in a doomed love triangle. It is the stake that Spike played for a while in Buffy and Angel's relationship.

Only less welcome. And without the great British accent and ripply abs.

But the silence is there, as destructive as my MS and her lower back disability. It eats away at our relationship like my white blood cells now devour the myelin around my neurons. And as the silence grows, I just wish I had a do-over button, like we did as kids, so we could turn back the clock and start our relationship over, before she was injured and I became sick. Before we lost our voices and our hearts.

Youthful Vim and Vigor

On the TV, Buffy and Angel and, in later episodes, Spike, pursue their love with all the single-minded obsession that I can't recall having since my diagnosis. 

Truth be told, we may not have had it for several years. We have a court date for her disability case against her employer in September. And after that's settled? She'll likely be headed back to her family in California, while I remain here with mine.

Dad meets with a cancer surgeon Friday, and then another one from Mayo Clinic next week.

And I'll keep looking for a second job.

And my feet? Well, I've been praying for a feeling of comfortable numbness. I guess I just wasn't specific enough on where.

Licking This Pity Party

But when I'm at my lowest, here comes Willow dog. She's a half-St. Bernard/half-Boxer lovebug I rescued on what would have been the last night of her life.

Four years ago I went to the vet to pick up my two youngest kitties, Blueberry and Chipmunk, from being neutered, to discover the most darling little St. Bernard face peering out at me from a kennel in the lobby. I pulled this tiny little 8-pound fuzzball out of the crate, and her entire body fit in my hands, and she licked my face with total abandon.

She was a stray and had been there, unclaimed, for two weeks. When the vet closed in 10 minutes, she was to be put down. Two hundred and forty dollars later, she was going home with Daddy.

Four years and 100 pounds later, Willow is Daddy's baby. Prone to fits of gas that can melt the windows and drive the cats yowling from the room, and possessed of softest, most soulful eyes God gave anyone, Willow is the sweetest dog ever. She's never met anyone or anything she didn't find worthy of a kiss, and nothing makes her happier than, well, being alive. Pet her, talk to her, kiss her, groom her or take her for a drive, and she's in heaven. Feed her, give her a treat or simply lie next to her in bed, and she's in heaven.

A Lesson From Willow

But she's a special needs dog. She has severe hip displaysia in both rear hips. She needs double hip replacement surgery, but that's $10,000 I don't have, so we rely on $240 a month in medicine. I wish I could do more, but we do what we can, and Willow appreciates it.

And even in pain, she gives me her doggie grin every time she sees me. Even if the last time she saw me was one blink ago. Pain and sadness don't matter to Willow dog, because Willow dog has what she wants. Someone to pet her. Someone to kiss. And cats to pass gas at.

And suddenly, when I look at the smiles in those family photos on the wall, I realize they're not grimaces. And I realize that those moments of joy I fear are so pointless are not. They are the point. They should be grabbed all the more for their fleeting nature.

Some people may have learend everything they need to know in Kindergarten, but I am reminded on a daily basis everything I need to know by one warm-eyed dog with huge heart and two bad hips.

Carpe diem.