My Dog Died and came back to me in a dream, after dying in another one.

My Dog Died and came back to me in a dream, after dying in another one.

                                                      

Life is so funny. And strange. And complicated.   And sinister.

 

My little Peek-a-Poo died in my arms in 2011. I thought my world was coming to an end.  Just the feeling of the partner I had had for 14 years, the longest of any relationship of mine, had to permanently rest in my savior’s arms.  When I uttered the words, “I Love You, Cassi,” she opened her eyes for the first time after being carried in to the room I was waiting for her in.  Her fur was still as gorgeous as it was when I selected her from the now-weaned pack.  I never cried so much and for so long.

 

I can’t begin to tell of the most horrible thing I heard when I called home to advise them of what happened. Only a person who didn’t know anything about compassion would carelessly deliver their condolences in a way that even God would shutter.  Believe it or not, this person really believed in their message.  A message to crush me.

 

The house I moved into, after relocating there from Georgia, definitely had a spirit that wasn’t very welcoming. One mouse made itself visible.  At least one or two others let their presence be known.  The water wouldn’t drain in the bathtub upstairs.  The power would go out when the power downstairs wouldn’t.  I always felt watched.  I even felt someone or some thing try and force me to turn over in bed.  Had I done this, I truly think I would have to find a new word for terrified.  It was even colder in the back part of the house I occupied.  That part was the bathroom and closet area.  I even noticed that I could neither bring in money or save money.  Sounds silly, doesn’t it?  No matter what I did, nothing seems to hold any permanence.  One summer evening, while Cassi was staying at a friend’s, a young child entered my upstairs abode and lifted my wallet, while I was sleeping in the room right off from the stairs.  According to the police officers who alerted me from the other side of the cut-screened door, it was a suspicious 15 year old boy they found down the hill.  He was stopped and frisked after fleeing the site of the police officers.  Because my address was correct on my driver’s license, it was able to find me.  Had that young person had an aggressive and explosive mind, would I still be here?

 

After that account, there was no need to testify. The kid was sent to a juvenile center.  I was sent into delirium.  Was there a greater force with me than the one I actually felt in that upstairs apartment? The compassion ran rampant. 

 

I often had dreams of Cassi sleeping next to me after her departure. My feet nudged her and I awakened.  She had not yet “crossed-over,” I guess.  Her energy was still there.

 

Nursing Class had been cancelled the day Cassi died.

I went back home and tried to rest after reviewing notes. Cassi looked ill when I picked her up my friend’s place.  He had another dog that Cassi got along with quite well.  However, she looked so frail after that short stay.  At home, she ate what she could.  She drank what she could.  That day, still haunts me.  My baby couldn’t even go to the bathroom properly.  I lay down after I made sure Cassi was secure.  I thought it would be for a short period of time.  There was no tossing and turning.  The next thing I knew, the alarm was going off and I kept trying to rise after turning it off.  But, something wouldn’t let me get up.  My body felt weighed down to the point of being held down through hypnosis.  Then, I broke free.  I called out to Cassi before I hit the door casing.  Horror hit me when I looked to the left to see Cassi panting in her floor-bed and her tongue hanging out of her mouth.  I never knew I could descend stairs without touching them.  She was in my arms when my family member opened the door to ask me what was wrong.  With tears in my eyes, it was suggested that I call 911.  Time was of the essence.  911 would take too long.  Besides, the animal hospital was very close by. 

 

That was the last time I saw my baby alive.

Call 911 followed by the most callous statement ever…by a family member.

 

I moved from that house in the summer of 2012. My health was deteriorating, but I was enthusiastic about my new move right across the street.  Cassi loved to lick my toes.  It’s just something she did when she saw my bare feet.  Why wouldn’t I feel her lick my toes, now, in this new place?  Yet, there was no feeling of her presence or no dreams to remind me of her.  The dreams didn’t start until I began staying over at a friend’s place.  First, Cassi appeared in the road out of nowhere.  I looked away, looked back, and she was gone.  The next dream found me following my beautiful, healthy Cassi up a flight of stairs.  She, of course, made it to the top sooner than I did.  What was strange about that dream was, when Cassi reached the top, she looked back at me, with her tongue out, smiling, as if to be sure I was following her.  As I continued ascending, I noticed a colorful light ahead.  Cassi disappeared.  I never reached the top of the stairs.  

 

In the latest dream, I opened a closed door to find Cassi lying in her bed, panting with swollen eyes, but in the same state I witnessed her in before her real death: 12/15/11.  This time, I closed the door to her room and let my guests know that she was dying.  Why did I do that?  What was the message she was sending me?  What was the lesson that I had to learn?  Who or what was sending me this message?  If I am to think that she was “crossing-over,” I would have to ask if people (she was my child) could keep returning after crossing-over the first time.  Cassi and I were always together.  Now, I am alone and no longer in communication with the first person I met after her leaving.  When I was in a relationship, Cassi was happy and healthy.  What is it that I’m supposed to know?

I love you, because you’re an Alcoholic


Wow.  Just think…two people in a relation together.  One, the younger of the two, repressed being on the other side of the fence his entire childhood, marrying two women.  The first only used him to get out of Dodge, never wanting children.  Knowing all along.  The second and final one actually bore him two beautiful boys.  Little did she know that his bouts with alcohol and mental hotels would reveal his innermost desires.
     You can say this revelation was made during a ‘counseling’ session.  Maybe it was just the excuse he needed  to vent.  She wasn’t the apple of his eye.    Never was.  Save, she always felt like the queen she always felt she deserved to be due to all his hard work and determination.  As the money pot drew larger, the grander her lifestyle became.  She knew.  Could it have been the blackouts and crying spells that caused her to worry?  She knew.  She just didn’t want to hear it.  Or, the lady needed an audience to help her exit.  Either way, she abandoned him at his lowest point.  Clearing out the bank accounts, taking the house.  Sending him back home to his alcoholic mom and dad.  Back to where it all began.  Home.  Without the children he so required to put a stop to all the whispers, the giggles, the obvious speculation that he was and is what they all thought he was, Gay.
     There, the spiral strengthened.  The mom grew angrier and more violent regarding the end result of her life.  The life of any party was hers, just as long as a pretty woman was present along with an abundance of wine.  She wanted to forget she was married and her god-awful role as a housewife.  Outbursts in the household, tickets, arrests made it all too easy to file divorce papers after 47 years of marriage.  How dare anyone say it was a happy period just because four kids were produced.  Somehow, her husband convinced himself that it was all her fault.  Though, witnessings many acts of abuse on their children, he did nothing to stop it.  His reasoning, as of today, he didn’t want the family to be broken apart.  She hated her life.  And she would let everybody know it by wearing the pants in that family.
     Dad drank himself to sleep.  Yet, whenever he felt frisky, she would oblige him once he made it into her den of dementia.  After, he would retreat to his bedroom…until his alarm clock went off.
     Now, not everyday with his mom was turbulent.  They were truly best friends.  They drank together, watched movies together, and told each other secrets.  Secrets.  Intimate secrets.

The Warm Goodbye


Saying what you want to hear
Always confuses me
Turning shivers to fear
Something (even) a child shouldn’t see

Breaking apart
For some, it’s so easy to do
After I’ve given you my heart
I see the difference in You

Please say, Hello
to our Warm Goodbye
Try not to let me fall too low
I may not be able to reach the sky
Please say, Hello
before you pass me by
It’s not all my doing though
If only you’d ask me why

Tears they fall off my pillow
Onto the bed sheets and into my hands
Wanting you to water my weeping willow
So the other flowers cheer in the stands

Tell me that you still love me
Say it soft and with a wink and a smile
I pray that my eyes don’t fail to see
the joy I gave you for a while

Love is above the law


What family

cannot walk up two flights

to my journey’s fine end

Strangers

they come and go for me

Yet they do go

They allow collectors

my telephone number

Before they themselves call

Abandon is

the child they should have named after me

Such a bright smile

with purest joy

He’s family

A man dictates

in her own home

It’s his family now

The betrayal

of pleasuring to know someone

Snitchy

Family man

Wherefore art the others

who shed their blood

for blood

No photos please

Idle group hugs

appalls the High Priestess

until she can crop the photo

Can on something

end these Lycans

before they spread

Not even the moon wants to shine

without the sun

when they go on

Two flights too much

Like making a space trek

beyond their zone

Careful is the Bible

that opens to God’s favorite

Even it can blaspheme toward her

And them

Who keep focus on her

It is a right

to be a part of what

you helped create

Invisible contract that is signed in blood

No copies made

Only memories

And promises

None kept

Some kept

Most were broken

Expected

Try and again

Time and again

See hope falter

Feel fire

The winning vote

crumbled up in the wastebasket

where you name can be read

like a 30 year old mag

And there you sit

in the corner

Waiting for your name to be called

Waiting

And more waiting

Then wrong number

Hope runs across the room

and appears

It’s late when Patience knocks

It’s late

Lights out

Turn the lights out

Be very quiet

You hold on to waiting

And don’t let go

Even when all the lights go out

//

Freedom of expression


A child wants to do

what he sees others do

The joy rides have more meaning

than the father knows

Mommy goes to work

He has been schooled on that

Father sits and moves seldom

Each has a different view on

parenthood

Upon arrival the car is loaded

for another impression of life

 

He wants to do what others do

 

Sunrise to another same day

She needs to leave now

Before he can change positions

He is ready to break the circle

to be with him

for a long time to come

It’s not just memories at such a

young age

He just knows that the walking joy-riders

seemed to have more fun

What I Care About


What’s better than sibling rivalry

When it provokes pride

Even a follow-up telephone call

Keeps the connection alive

Remembering that you started

This crusade when you went off

To garner knowledge to share

Whoever left

It’s as if they didn’t

And here we are

Still functioning

Secretly the pride is still there

Caring for our own

Our own-selves

As they should

As we should

Then again the

Tone supports the next generation

Into our round circle

Even one of them has to be

The center

And that’s okay

For there is still someone

To look forward to

This Ole House


big ole house and big ole moon (alternate crop...
big ole house and big ole moon (alternate crop/processing) (Photo credit: Brenda Anderson)

This Ole House

May be empty

But there’s still a place

To rest your weary head

When no one else seems to

care about your dreams and desires

it holds memories all too well

And will let you know

that everything’s gonna be allright

This Ole House

may have a chair or two

that needs to go

But there’s no rush

to upset the flow

And there’s still a place

And there’s still time

to find what you’re looking for

In This Ole House

There are no clocks

In This Ole House

You can hear yourself think

and disagree

All the same

When no one seems to care

This Ole House

Is there

It is the childhood you never had

It is the good brother

Or sister gone bad

It is the mother who knew no answers

It is the father

Who sought private dancers

This Ole House

Is the reason

You never committed treason

Filled with blood, sweat, and tears

In remembrance of your golden years

You don’t have to stay

Just revisit

When you want to play

This Ole House

Never gets old,

Too hot or even too cold

This Ole House

takes you by the hand

and helps your future understand

You don’t have to stay

Just revisit

When you need to sway

Never worry

That there won’t be room

Though there is no hurry

Expect to leave behind your Gloom

to This Ole House

Ask Mama, but trust Dad


Before your nose gets bloody

And fighting gets you sad

When you can’t find your best buddy

Ask Mama, but trust Dad

 

Sometimes they need a fist

To go upside that head

I know it’s such a twist

It’s as if you are seeing red

 

When you’ve tried making peace

But it’s going from worse to bad

Stop making your own elbow grease

Ask Mama, but trust Dad

 

Mama don’t want no hurt

She tries to make things right

Even tries for a sit down chat

If Daddy sees a bruise

He’s got nothing to lose

They’ll all know where the party’s at

 

Both sides of good

Keeping grace and love

in the neighborhood

They know how to settle the score

A different way to fight

one dark one light

Hey, that’s what parents are for

 

When you keep trying to make peace

But things just get too bad

Stop using your own elbow grease

Tell Mama, but trust big bad Dad

Can Gays Really All Get Along?


You're The Most Colorful Thing That I've Seen
You’re The Most Colorful Thing That I’ve Seen (Photo credit: Dia™)

 

I come across headers, every now and then, that sound like a plea for all Gays to Get Along.  The header then gives you just enough to tease you with the direction of the article.   What’s so unfortunate is that you can always tell the type of author who wrote the piece.   Usually, there is never a story trying to unite people of color with other races.  What begins as mainstream ultimately must remain mainstream.

 

Gossip and fashion are two of the main issues that drive gay unity.  Perez Hilton knows full well the importance of cattiness and the thrill to impress via dress.  For the gay man, at least, appearance is everything along with strong finances.  Otherwise, why exist?  Then again, if you don’t really have it, give the impression that you do.  Everything is about managing the perception of perfection.  In today’s vision, starting a family with a partner is key to success.  By comparison, gays tend to stick with members of their likes.  Now don’t get me wrong, this is typical of heterosexual relationships too.  But gay men and women can take family life to more extreme level of exuberance of showmanship.  By that, I mean flamboyance.  Being gay, for so many of my friends, is another or the best way for them to be extroverted.  Social mobility and that being a social butterfly are aspects that help gays prosper and mature.  This is the mainstream.

 

How do gays of color fit into the scheme of mainstream gay life?  They don’t appear to be included in the usual talk that relates other gays.  Whether it is all about the color of their skin or the preconceived notion that no matter what they call themselves, the thought of being violent reigns supreme.  In other words, militant would be a better expression of a person of color who goes against authority.  And by authority, it is intended to mean white.  Although it may be more threatening to see two men of color together as a couple or in a family setting with one or more children (as they are more heavily judged in adoption cases), it is less threatening when one member is of a more acceptable race.  Even then, there is the question of whether true love exists in the relationship.

 

 So, can everybody get along?  The only way I see it, the ones in charge are the ones who need to let their guard down.  Look at what Augusta National just did – not only did they allow women into their prestigious all-male club, they allowed a woman of color.  Granted, Condi isn’t really a woman of color.  She has stature, clout, respect.  Not all women of color have the honor in mainstream America.  But what would really help a male of color…would it help if he achieved stature before he announced the church he was a member of?  Probably not.  That is unless he had the support of an accepted one.  Then, I guess, some acceptance is better than no acceptance at all, right?     

Letter to John Travolta


John Travolta
John Travolta (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Dear John:

Why won’t you let your soul be at peace and be honest about your life?  There are only so many incidents that your faithful followers and fans will continue support you for, and this latest bout of nonsense is really making people question your unfounded love for Oprah.  If ever there was the World’s Greatest Faghag, even by Jon Waters standards, it would be the all-powerful Oprah.  Nate Berkus and Suze Ormond have had very prosperous careers under Oprah’s shelter, and things haven’t been all that bad for you either.  However, in some ways, we all deal with sins of the father.  Then again, like they say, “Karma is a bitch!”

We have watched you from the time you portrayed “The Boy in the Plastic Bubble.”  As Vinny Barbarino, you rocked so many worlds with your metrosexual, flamboyant, bubble-headed flair.  Yet, every time we saw you on any screen, we saw that bubble surrounding and somewhat protecting you.  Hollywood sure does have a vested interest in you.  Although your role as Danny in “Grease” made you the least threatening actor in Tinseltown, the character you portrayed in “Hairspray” as Tracy Turnblad’s mother made you most approachable.  You made that character.  You were that character.  You did for that role what Queen Latifah did as the lesbian in her film, “Set It Off.”  Outstanding work!

Where will you go when the last accuser comes forward?  Can’t you once and for all prove that the accusations against you are false?  Or do you just not want to?  Maybe you should have your reps call Tom Cruise and find out how he’s dodged tall tale after tall tale for all these years.  Anyway, the fortune you have amassed could and should support you and your family for a few lifetimes.  Even though I haven’t witnessed you in any Shakespearean roles, I am sure you’re as diverse as Neil Patrick Harris is.  See, now there’s one human being who continues to serve his fellow-man:  Broadway, big screen, basketball games.  He even believably kisses women on his television show, “How I Met Your Mother.”

Well, you’re still an A-Lister.  You’re bound to win an Academy Award, sometime soon, and people will say that the part was a role-of-a-lifetime.  It’s so easy to claim that your private life is your business, but you have to remember that you are a public figure, a celebrity who has fans turned fanatics who depend on you to make their days and nights brighter and worthwhile.  To the many who have followed your career from the start, you are their guiding light.  So why won’t you let your true light shine as bright as it wants to?  The public feels your hurt and it feels your pain.  And it’s time both of you stop hurting.

Just open the door.  You don’t even have to say you’re sorry.

Signed,

Truth, Health, Happiness, and Karma