Coming home

Waverly is almost six years old.  Wise beyond his years, he sits patiently for us to come home.  He delights in bringing his prized stuffed animal when we arrive.  He is rewarding us for coming home.  Come home more often, his eyes implores.









Bounding along, running along, sleeping along, Waverly is with us in all of our activity.  He is afoot, nudgingly close, emotionally aware of our state of minds.  The Korean word for this awareness is "cha-meon."  A Confucian state where one is aware of himself and the social,emotional status of all around him so as not to disrupt harmony of the moment.  Give in to cha-meon and you can become a prisoner of your family and obligation. Ignore cha-meon and you are an elephant in the room, disruptive.

Until recently, Waverly and Cupcake were a team.  We all grew up with Cupcake.  She was the dog that taught us to be better parents, brothers, and sisters.  Cupcake was six months old when she came to our house, and she immediately made herself necessary.   Ben told us that he would never love another dog if we let Cupcake go.   Cupcake was emotionally fragile and ate all of our furniture when we left.  She was on doggie anti-depressant for a while, and we ended up with new furniture after a year.  She practically  raised Noah and saw him develop into a young man.  She met Mark and his new bride and their offshoot, Copernicus aka Copper.

Cupcake despite her pain and infirmity came to the door to greet us when we came home.  She could not see, she could not hear, and in the end, she might have lost her sense of smell.  She got stuck one afternoon, not able to raise her hips and remained in a grosteque split until I came home.  Still, she licked our nose and smiled when she knew we were present.  Ben noted that Cupcake always gave back more licks  then she received, and he was right.

I see Cupcake at the periphery of my vision.  She is a memory ghost.  I listen for her steps pattering down the hall.  I know that Waverly feels loss.  He is looking for her.  He kept her young.  After sixteen years and one month, Cupcake left us and we let her go.  She was loved and her passing is still hard to bear.  We took her to our beloved vets and she trusted us, trembling.   She died in our arms.

In our fifth decade of our lives, so much change and transition.  We are seeing age and wear creep upon us.  We are susceptible to chronic diseases.  Our parents are ill and some far away.  Our children are growing up and starting their own families.  We soon will be empty nesters.  Life does not simplify but grows into complex, compound sentences.  There is much joy as well as sadness.  There is growth and also a recession.  Life happens.

Cupcake and Waverly teach us that hope is infinite.  They always waited for us, patiently.  They looked at us as if it were the first time.  They trusted us, sometimes blindly and without sense of smell or hearing.  The act of being together, living together, being aware of each other has created bonds of love.  Our shared experiences create love.  I want to tell my children  that no matter what they do or whatever paths they lead, Joan and I will be like Cupcake and Waverly, waiting for them patiently, hopefully, and with longing whenever they return home.  And with Find my Friends, we are with them also in their travels, sailing down the Chesapeake Bay, the Southampton River or the San Francisco Bay.

Come home more often !   We love you guys like puppy love.  Waverly, Joan and I will be waiting.