Spreading the gospel of geek

I met him a little over ten years ago.

I remember a tangle of black hair and a pair of brown eyes that looked both inquisitive and shy. When I held him in my arms, I fell head over heels. School was a painful place — I often came home crying. Those brown eyes and that tangle of black hair wiped away a day’s cares.

I relished our walks and runs together. We’d go to the local elementary and run around the track until we both ran out of breath, usually with me collapsing first. It kept me in shape. It kept him happy to expend all of that energy.

In the winter, we would jump into snowbanks and play carelessly in the fresh snow. At first, he was timid. As the years went by, he became more and more bold. He’d chase me around the yard. Even in the midst of biting winds, we’d find time to play together.

In the summer, we’d laze underneath the fruit trees that used to stand in our back yard. My brother would join us after a time. We’d run around the yard together, throwing frisbees and tennis balls. When we finally collapsed from exhaustion (and the severe temperatures), we’d go inside and play video games in our spare bedroom.

In the fall, when the leaves were at their most crunchy, we’d leap in and out of the piles I raked. Fall was for falling. I’d re-rake and we’d jump back in. The air was crisp but our home was at its most beautiful. Our walks around the block became less frequent but we’d try.

The last few years were difficult for all of us, watching his health deteriorate. Suddenly, that mess of black hair began to fall out in clumps. Those bright brown eyes looked a little less bright every time we saw one another. Towards the end, wrapping my arms around him made me cry. I could feel ribs and only whispers of muscles.

The last time I saw him, I held him tightly in my arms and told him I loved him as much today as I did on the day we met. I whispered in his ears that he was the only man in the world that had never hurt me and that I would love him forever. We sat together on the tired blue couch in the upstairs living room. My son slept peacefully in my lap and he looked in my eyes expectantly.

“Just one more time?” he said without a word.

There was no guarantee he would be waiting for me when I made it back home. I handed my baby to my mother and took him in my arms one last time. I pressed my nose to his, tears quietly streaming down my face.

I knew that I’d never see him again.

In those last moments with him, I didn’t regret a thing. He had been perfect — an amazing friend that I would miss for the rest of my life. When I received the call last week saying that he’d died, I cried all day. I had lost a part of myself that day.

I held my son close, letting the tears stream down my face. My tears soaked my son’s tangle of black hair. As I wrapped my arms around him, I remember the first time I held my dear friend.

He was no larger than the palm of my hand. I could fit him in the pocket of my housecoat. Teaching him to go to bathroom outside at six weeks old was difficult but he was worth it. All of the memories — the good and the not-so-good — were worth every year I got to spend with him.

One day, my children (yes, there will be more) will hold their first puppy in their hands and know what unabashed, unrelenting love feels like. They will walk and run and play with their puppy for their childhood and even their adolescence (perhaps their adult years, if they’re lucky). One day, their puppy will get old and sick and will inevitably die. That day will be sad but they will know what I know now: to have the love of an animal is to be truly blessed.

Goodbye, my dearest friend.

You are missed.

I love you.

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We are all new, in some way or another. In the last seven weeks, there is an incredible sense of newness in my life. It’s not exactly shiny or sparkly, but it is beautiful.

I am an acolyte — a new mother — and I find myself worshipping at the altar of Life.

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