After a walk in the dog park, reflecting on Dusty, I feel no closer to understanding. I am a thinker. I process things in my head until I can make sense of them. Or, at least until I can make peace with them. As I walked along the trail, pushing Kinnie in her stroller and watching Koda and Charlie romp, I wondered what it would be like if Dusty was there with us. Those kind of thoughts have come to mind often in the last 10 days.
Whenever I consider how a moment would be different with Dusty's presence, I realize it would feel more alive. In the park, he would have been off the trail, observing plants, picking up bugs, and looking for snakes, all the while making a running commentary that would have me rolling. His appreciation for the "little things," the things that so many of us take for granted, was profound.
So today, as I walked, I thought I figured it out. That was the lesson. To appreciate, to do more than appreciate, each little moment. To live life to the fullest, literally. Look at the world as Dusty did.
Only, then there's this other part. Some part of Dusty was haunted. Something in him was ready for this life to be over. For all the laughter, and antics, and thoughtfulness, something was missing.
I don't know how to make peace with this. Someone who was so incredibly, admirably alive did not want to live. Still, 10 days later, I find myself thinking that there must be some mistake. The two realities do not fit together. I laugh as I remember, and at the same moment want to scream "WHY?"
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