The anniversary of my last good day, June 23, 2022, is approaching. The good part of that last good day was brief and quickly turned into tragedy filled with irony and pain only Shakespeare could have been inspired from. In one moment my Onyx and I were so happy and filled with love, yet by my own actions, my beloved Onyx was taken to the animal hospital where I made the wrong decision to put him to sleep. I came home with his jacket and leash; stunned; alone. There is no longer such a thing as a good day, but I remember what they were. Yes, pain is joy in reverse. The hurt is the magnitude of previous love that also needs room and allowance in the heart, but unlike the pleasure which love unbridled brings to our lives, loss and guilt in pure form are essentially too much to cope with. It would be wonderful to memorialize all the events I've collected during our unique journey together, which I long for and he absolutely deserves. Yet shame, guilt and inability to forgive myself have rendered reflection for more than mere moments on any of those times impossible. You're absolutely right, there's no way of knowing if it's your last good day, and why it's always important to remember everything is fleeting and nothing beyond the moment is assured. 8:30am June 23, 2022; the last moments in my last good, and worst, day. Would I have done anything different? Yes. Would the outcome have been better? Momentarily for me, yes, but at the risk he was in irreversable pain, I would not have been able to hold and comfort him while saying goodbye, and he'd possibly pass alone and without me. This is what was induced into my vulnerability and in the madness of that moment I was not given options but only to decide what I thought was best for him, only to discover afterwards the decision was based on information not relevent to the problem at hand. What I erroneously thought was best for him through my ultimate sacrifice was the worse decision for both of us. Perhaps writing (and the courage to do so) can provide an effective way of honoring Onyx and what he taught me about life, as well as maybe provide some level of solace to others with nowhere to put their grief.
Two weeks ago I had a really wonderful day. Our daughter came home from her first year MBA finals at UVA, soon to be moving from Charlottesville to Dallas for a hot (not weather-related) internship. We had not seen her in 13 months, so that was grand. She asked if I’d go to NYC for the day on the train from Connecticut to see the MOMA. Her treat all day. We lunched late at a highly recommended Szechuan restaurant in SoHo, where I had blistering hot frogs’ legs. First time for everything. The last time she and I were at the MOMA was in 2016, where we gave a talk at TEDx Estée Lauder. She’d just finished a gig as an accidental Clinique cover girl. Another really good day.
Here is a poem I wrote using the prompts.... thanks... Matt Mumber
What if today is the last good day--
this one, right here, right now?
What if joint pains become unbearable,
the cluster headaches never cease?
What if the cancer returns, a rogue cell escapes the chemo,
lives on and spreads, sets up shop in the lung or liver?
What if my heart stops beating after years of neglect?
How will I spend this one glorious set of moments,
tucked neatly inside a precious 24 hours?
I could touch the morning’s moist grass with bare feet
and let the raindrops soak through my white undershirt.
I could lean into the quick tongue kisses from the stray
who just appeared on our porch.
I could eat peaches whole and let the sticky juice flow down my unshaven chin.
I could touch my beloved before leaving home, a little longer hug,
an extra, lingering kiss.
I could notice the oak trees sway,
some leaves dance, others remain still.
In each eye that I meet, I could welcome my own eye,
with each voice, I could acknowledge the shared air.
Each leaf of lettuce contains dust from the whole cosmos,
each sip of water – a pregnant cloud.
When the darkness arrives, I could lie on the fresh cut lawn,
point a flashlight toward the sky’s first star,
flick it on and off
and whisper-- thank you, thank you, thank you.
Matt I love this so much!!!! This is going to be my poem of the summer. Thank you for sharing it.
This tiktok. I am crying.
I truly don’t care if they’ve stolen every bit of my IP and private information, this video was worth it. 😂
The anniversary of my last good day, June 23, 2022, is approaching. The good part of that last good day was brief and quickly turned into tragedy filled with irony and pain only Shakespeare could have been inspired from. In one moment my Onyx and I were so happy and filled with love, yet by my own actions, my beloved Onyx was taken to the animal hospital where I made the wrong decision to put him to sleep. I came home with his jacket and leash; stunned; alone. There is no longer such a thing as a good day, but I remember what they were. Yes, pain is joy in reverse. The hurt is the magnitude of previous love that also needs room and allowance in the heart, but unlike the pleasure which love unbridled brings to our lives, loss and guilt in pure form are essentially too much to cope with. It would be wonderful to memorialize all the events I've collected during our unique journey together, which I long for and he absolutely deserves. Yet shame, guilt and inability to forgive myself have rendered reflection for more than mere moments on any of those times impossible. You're absolutely right, there's no way of knowing if it's your last good day, and why it's always important to remember everything is fleeting and nothing beyond the moment is assured. 8:30am June 23, 2022; the last moments in my last good, and worst, day. Would I have done anything different? Yes. Would the outcome have been better? Momentarily for me, yes, but at the risk he was in irreversable pain, I would not have been able to hold and comfort him while saying goodbye, and he'd possibly pass alone and without me. This is what was induced into my vulnerability and in the madness of that moment I was not given options but only to decide what I thought was best for him, only to discover afterwards the decision was based on information not relevent to the problem at hand. What I erroneously thought was best for him through my ultimate sacrifice was the worse decision for both of us. Perhaps writing (and the courage to do so) can provide an effective way of honoring Onyx and what he taught me about life, as well as maybe provide some level of solace to others with nowhere to put their grief.
Two weeks ago I had a really wonderful day. Our daughter came home from her first year MBA finals at UVA, soon to be moving from Charlottesville to Dallas for a hot (not weather-related) internship. We had not seen her in 13 months, so that was grand. She asked if I’d go to NYC for the day on the train from Connecticut to see the MOMA. Her treat all day. We lunched late at a highly recommended Szechuan restaurant in SoHo, where I had blistering hot frogs’ legs. First time for everything. The last time she and I were at the MOMA was in 2016, where we gave a talk at TEDx Estée Lauder. She’d just finished a gig as an accidental Clinique cover girl. Another really good day.