Love Hurts

Los Angeles, California

Several years back, Joel and I were dancing at Hacienda Hotel in El Segundo. He turned me and as my arm came up and over his head, ostensibly to land on his shoulder, I smacked him hard on the side of his head. This very occasionally happens to all of us in salsa dancing. We're not trying to get even with the guys (though maybe a few hits are in order). But this was an accident. We were dancing next to a salsero friend who saw it and remarked, laughing: Love hurts.

I think the hardest thing one will ever do is to watch someone we love lose someone they love. I was with Joel when he put down his beloved best buddy, Buster, this week. Buster would have been fifteen years old in December. He was a rescue Bassett Hound and had survived several surgeries including a $10k disc surgery back when he was about ten. That was a financial stretch for Joel, but he was not about to lose Buster when there was another option. To say that Joel and Buster were bonded is an understatement beyond all proportion.

The vet, who was exceedingly, quietly gentle, came to Joel's condo with a veterinary assistant and the three of us watched Joel say goodbye to his best buddy while the sedation was taking effect. My challenge, and that word sounds so utilitarian, was to stay focused on how this was not about me in any way. This was about Joel, a man who strives to do the right thing, always. A man who has changed my life by bringing trust into it. I have known few men as honest and forthright as him (besides my dad). And this was killing him. My thoughts went sideways for a moment as Joel kept talking and soothing Buster who was lying in his arms on Joel's bed. I thought: If nothing else good ever happens in my life, I hope I can die in Joel's arms in the same way. I pulled my thoughts back upright, as shortly after we left Joel to pass those first, heartbreaking moments of grief, as Buster had now passed.

This kind, compassionate vet had taken Buster away. But before he left, he hugged us both. Minutes later, Joel looked at me and said: Will you drive me to the beach? Joel lives about fifteen minutes from Malibu, and though I hadn't driven Malibu Canyon since high school, we took off in my car for the beach. Joel said nothing on the drive nor as we walked up to the end of Broad Beach in Malibu. The fog and high waves were rolling in as the sun was setting. It was cold, but infinitely beautiful. Afterwards he told me he felt better for having been by the ocean. Astrologically, we are both water signs. The crab and the scorpion. When the going gets rough we head for the water.

Joel and Buster were a lot like Mr. Peabody and Sherman, the Jay Ward-created characters who were a part of the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon family. In reruns, the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show was a cult thing we watched in college. Mr. Peabody was the intellectual, professorial Beagle who had a pet, a geeky kid named Sherman. When my friend, Connie, and her son stopped by the house a few months ago and we were all visiting at the bottom of my sloping driveway, Buster came down the driveway to get Joel. Time to go. Joel dutifully left us, walking up the driveway to lift Buster into his car and drive him home. Buster was the boss. Connie and Patrick thought this was hilarious.

People who haven't lost a beloved pet won't get this. I have lost two beloved dogs, a Shetland Sheepdog and a goofy, wonderful Australian Shepherd whose photo is here on my blog. I loved them both dearly, and the absence of the sound of their paw steps throughout my home left an empty trail in my heart. If you have shared your home with a dog, you get this. They have huge hearts, but they don't last long. If you're lucky, you get fifteen years with them. And fifteen years passes fast these days.

Our losses are always complicated by other losses, and that makes it harder. I grieve outwardly. Joel does not. When overwhelmed by emotion, he needs to let it go and move on. So, while hard for me, I need to honor that and utilize my ability to filter my thoughts before verbalizing; setting aside what won't work in this case, and, ultimately, to offer him my support and love. Yes, love hurts. But if I do nothing else in the remaining lifetime before me, I will be a better person for offering him love that doesn't hurt. That's what Buster and Joel provided for each other. My mission now is to try hard to follow their example. A tough act to follow.