The minimalist inside was put on a leash for years since Max was a puppy when I started diligently preserving all of Max's things. Max's toys, his first bowl, his towel after his first shower to his last toy, and his last pillow which he slept.. That pillow is supposed to be where I would lay my head when I take my last breath and/or my head would rest post my last breath.
The rationalist inside me always thought these little things would help "be with" Max for the rest of my life after Max. Now everything is safely packed and placed in few boxes. But in the mundanity of everyday life, I have to open the box, look at his toys, smell it, and be there physically. The whole process is very emotional and it is a process, to say the least. It's been almost 5 months and still haven't I opened those boxes. Sometimes, what the mind wants is not what the body wants.
I do have his last toy next to my bed which has his smell. That is going to fade slowly with time...
Things are things; they become special because of character instilled in them by the memories.
I do know for a fact that there would be times over the coming years when I will open the box and flood of memories will compete with the flood of tears.
Maybe human beings have an innate compass to understand the important Buddhist truth of impermanence. Maybe that's why someone of the oldest archeological pieces of evidence starts from drawings on the walls of the caves. We have an urge to capture time and bring some permanence to this eternal impermanence.
I am no different. Once again the minimalist who prefers the empty walls lost the battle when it comes to Max's pictures. There are pictures of his puppy days in physical albums since it was from a pre-smartphone era. Max's beautiful eyes reside in my wallet, on my desk, on my bedside, coffee mug, and pretty much the house is filled with Max's memorabilia.
Thanks to Steve Jobs and my past relationships (who were better photographers than I would ever be), I have thousands of moments captured in time. Pictures do have a meditative effect but they are constant reminders on how much I miss his beautiful and naughty eyes, how much I miss playing with him, how much I miss kissing him and constant rumination on how to cultivate the parts of me which still survives without the parts which were lost with him.
Some of the worst times are when Google photos random "Rediscover This Day In..." alert lands my phone with no sense about my emotional state at that point and time. Sometimes, it's a beautiful surprise that brings a smile looking at the naughty guy doing crazy things. But there are times those "rediscover" photos devastates me.
Pictures are the only objective things through which I can see my Max without any self-deception and confabulation of memories. I am grateful to have live in an age and time where I can look at my Max at a moment's notice.
Ambulatoriness has enabled mammals not only to survive but also self reflect, plan, adapt, and be creative. The millions of miles Max and I drove, walked, stood still, swam, hiked, and those numerous places we were forced to visit in his final years and months to subside cancer evolving inside him. I haven't even begun to visit most of the places with Neo but we will in time. Even today walking with Neo in the park, I was melancholic and crying - and somehow, Neo sensed it and he walked without pulling me and stopped being a puppy for a few minutes. Walking the same path where Max smelt and left his markings would indeed bring me solace. Although, visiting his oncologist and the nurses with Neo one of these days is going to be rough. Very rough indeed.
There is a very profound sentence in my all-time favorite quote - Mind As A River which I never expected would apply to my life in a very very weird and unique way.
But no amount of thinking in advance prepared me for the chaos of life and of the infinite possibilities of the moment and the moments and the moments I am living after Max.
One of the craziest things that emerged from those possibilities was my voice. My voice calling Max. My voice talking to Max. My voice telling Max's stories to Neo, Fluffy, and Garph. My voice wishing good morning to Max. My voice telling Max that I love him. My voice wishing him good night. My voice telling Max how much I miss him and wish he was here with me.
My voice which I despised for close to 45 years has indeed become the most comforting and soothing thing. In hindsight, it doesn't look much of surprise since the age-old wisdom has taught us so much about the power of self-talk. Talking one's heart out is the most effective thing in psychology and the cozy couches and ambiance in the psychologist's office are primed to make people open up and talk. To paraphrase Liz Gilbert - it was unexpected but unavoidable.
My dreams, disappointments, pains, sufferings, triumphs, the knowledge gained and lost, trickles of wisdom, family, friendships, relationships, efforts to strengthen the body and mind, work, studies, travel's or lack of it, sound sleep and sleepless nights and numerous collection of good, bad and ordinary life long moments culminated now to this single most comforting moment in time - kissing Max's ashes near his picture with his toy in my hand and my voice telling him that I love him and I miss him.
The rationalist inside me always thought these little things would help "be with" Max for the rest of my life after Max. Now everything is safely packed and placed in few boxes. But in the mundanity of everyday life, I have to open the box, look at his toys, smell it, and be there physically. The whole process is very emotional and it is a process, to say the least. It's been almost 5 months and still haven't I opened those boxes. Sometimes, what the mind wants is not what the body wants.
I do have his last toy next to my bed which has his smell. That is going to fade slowly with time...
Things are things; they become special because of character instilled in them by the memories.
I do know for a fact that there would be times over the coming years when I will open the box and flood of memories will compete with the flood of tears.
Maybe human beings have an innate compass to understand the important Buddhist truth of impermanence. Maybe that's why someone of the oldest archeological pieces of evidence starts from drawings on the walls of the caves. We have an urge to capture time and bring some permanence to this eternal impermanence.
I am no different. Once again the minimalist who prefers the empty walls lost the battle when it comes to Max's pictures. There are pictures of his puppy days in physical albums since it was from a pre-smartphone era. Max's beautiful eyes reside in my wallet, on my desk, on my bedside, coffee mug, and pretty much the house is filled with Max's memorabilia.
Thanks to Steve Jobs and my past relationships (who were better photographers than I would ever be), I have thousands of moments captured in time. Pictures do have a meditative effect but they are constant reminders on how much I miss his beautiful and naughty eyes, how much I miss playing with him, how much I miss kissing him and constant rumination on how to cultivate the parts of me which still survives without the parts which were lost with him.
Some of the worst times are when Google photos random "Rediscover This Day In..." alert lands my phone with no sense about my emotional state at that point and time. Sometimes, it's a beautiful surprise that brings a smile looking at the naughty guy doing crazy things. But there are times those "rediscover" photos devastates me.
Pictures are the only objective things through which I can see my Max without any self-deception and confabulation of memories. I am grateful to have live in an age and time where I can look at my Max at a moment's notice.
Ambulatoriness has enabled mammals not only to survive but also self reflect, plan, adapt, and be creative. The millions of miles Max and I drove, walked, stood still, swam, hiked, and those numerous places we were forced to visit in his final years and months to subside cancer evolving inside him. I haven't even begun to visit most of the places with Neo but we will in time. Even today walking with Neo in the park, I was melancholic and crying - and somehow, Neo sensed it and he walked without pulling me and stopped being a puppy for a few minutes. Walking the same path where Max smelt and left his markings would indeed bring me solace. Although, visiting his oncologist and the nurses with Neo one of these days is going to be rough. Very rough indeed.
There is a very profound sentence in my all-time favorite quote - Mind As A River which I never expected would apply to my life in a very very weird and unique way.
Knowledge, experience, and theory have limitations: no amount of thinking in advance can prepare you for the chaos of life, for the infinite possibilities of the moment. The great philosopher of war Carl von Clausewitz called this "friction": the difference between our plans and what actually happens.For 13 plus years with the curse of knowing what is coming and sheer meditation on memento mori made me meticulously plan and preserve Max's things, his pictures and savored every moment with him at home and the places we visited together to capture them in my mind's memory capsule.
But no amount of thinking in advance prepared me for the chaos of life and of the infinite possibilities of the moment and the moments and the moments I am living after Max.
One of the craziest things that emerged from those possibilities was my voice. My voice calling Max. My voice talking to Max. My voice telling Max's stories to Neo, Fluffy, and Garph. My voice wishing good morning to Max. My voice telling Max that I love him. My voice wishing him good night. My voice telling Max how much I miss him and wish he was here with me.
My voice which I despised for close to 45 years has indeed become the most comforting and soothing thing. In hindsight, it doesn't look much of surprise since the age-old wisdom has taught us so much about the power of self-talk. Talking one's heart out is the most effective thing in psychology and the cozy couches and ambiance in the psychologist's office are primed to make people open up and talk. To paraphrase Liz Gilbert - it was unexpected but unavoidable.
My dreams, disappointments, pains, sufferings, triumphs, the knowledge gained and lost, trickles of wisdom, family, friendships, relationships, efforts to strengthen the body and mind, work, studies, travel's or lack of it, sound sleep and sleepless nights and numerous collection of good, bad and ordinary life long moments culminated now to this single most comforting moment in time - kissing Max's ashes near his picture with his toy in my hand and my voice telling him that I love him and I miss him.
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