Someone You Loved

 Week Forty-eight: Someone You Loved

I’m going under and I fear this time there’s no one to save me

This is all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy

I need someone to heal

Someone to know

Someone to have

Someone to hold

It’s easy to say, but it’s never the same

I guess I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain

But now the day bleeds into nightfall

And you’re not here to get me through it all

I let my guard down, and then you pulled the rug

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

—Lewis Capaldi, Someone You Loved, from Divinely Uninspired to a Hellish Extent

I admit to several addictions, one of which is scrolling through short films known as “reels”. I particularly like clips from the television series Ted Lasso. One such reel shows Ted reminiscing about his childhood. He tells a story of getting bitten by the neighbor’s dog, which resulted in a true canine phobia. The story goes on to describe the aging owner of the same dog and his grief resulting from his wife’s passing. Responsibility for the dog fell to Ted. To describe his lasting love for the animal that had caused him such trauma, he said:

It's funny thinking about the things in your life that can make you cry knowing that they existed. They become the same things that make you cry knowing that they’re now gone. Those things come into our lives to help us get from one place to a better one.

I really do enjoy Facebook reels, the short video clips that hold my attention just long enough before they move on to the next. They feature everything from the sharpest Japanese knives available on line to saving sea lions who are hopelessly tangled in fishing nets to my absolute favorite, a guy who calls himself Rxckstxr. Rxckstxr does pet voice overs. He imagines what the animals are thinking and supplies the voices we hear. Hilarious (to me).

Among my favorite reels are video montages of very small children giggling hilariously while their dogs seem to enjoy the interactions as much as the children do. That’s where I first encountered Someone You Loved, a song clearly about the struggle of living with a love lost. The message is clear:

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

On the day I wrote this of all days one such video montage popped up, so I watched it. It’s one I’ve seen before, the one that features Someone You Loved as a soundtrack. Actually, the audio and video could not possibly be more mismatched. Watching tiny children overcome with laughter while listening to a male voice describe his sorrow, well, they aine simpatico. But it works. It works for me. I’ll tell you why…

The night before I wrote this was not unlike most other nights. The prior afternoon featured a walk as every afternoon does. After a six o’clock meal Leon and I played fetch in the backyard. With nightfall Leon settled on our bed as he does every evening. But at nearly 3:00 a.m. I awoke to the tremors he suffers during a seizure. He had already lost control of his bladder, and what was left of his dinner was spread over the lower portion of our bed. When I got to him he was convulsing. It was dark but I could see his eyes bulging as though surely they would burst. His extremities were stiff as boards, and he shook violently.

I held his head and stroked his face. I assured him that I was near. I told him he was loved. In less than sixty seconds the convulsions stopped, and his legs went limp. This one was not unlike others so I knew there was still time before he fully regained awareness of his surroundings. He took heavy snorting breaths. Except for his heaving chest, he lay perfectly still.

I’ve seen this many times before. This was actually the eleventh documented seizure. I was present for ten of them. But this time was somewhat different for me. Let me add that while I was stroking his head and whispering to him, I knew well what was about to happen. That quiet, comatose recovery phase is followed by mania. As he regains consciousness he seems surprised and overjoyed to see me. He licks at me. (I say it that way because I just told you he had vomited, which of course would be shared readily if I allowed it!) He climbs on me. He wrestles to feel me near. (I might also point out that being “loved” by a urine soaked canine is a special kind of love, to be sure.) But before any of that (which absolutely did happen) my thoughts turned dark.

How long until one of these seizures causes a stroke?

How long until epilepsy forces me to make a decision that I dread?

How much longer will I have him?

Its funny thinking about the things in your life that can make you cry knowing that they existed. They become the same things that make you cry knowing that they’re now gone. Those things come into our lives to help us get from one place to a better one

I did it to myself. At age 66 when I should have known better, I should have thought through the anticipated lifespans of a dog and that of an old man who lives with heart disease. Even money says the dog survives that match-up, but his demon has definitely leveled the playing field. I sometimes joke that Leon and I are trying to outlive each other. In all seriousness, I don’t even think about not having him. I can’t. Too hard. But I do sometimes think about what would be best if he survives.

It was my friend and neighbor who once pointed out that Leon chose us because he knew we would take good care of him. It’s silly to think he or any other dog understands epilepsy or even caring for a pet, but it’s comforting to know that our commitment to him is perfectly obvious to anyone paying attention.

The moment he “comes out of it” he looks at me. He stares at me, and with the joy that would have Rxckstxr claiming, “Jay! What the heck was that?! Oh never mind. I’m glad you’re here. Ima lick your face. Ima climb all over you. I love you, Jay.  I love you, Jay! I love you, Jay!!!” 

“Jay, wait a minute…why are we so wet?”

Lewis Capaldi - Someone You Loved (Lyrics)