A Poem

She doesn’t sing quite like she used to,
Her song is hindered by her age.
In the early morning, when the snow and ice are here
Her struggle is much greater,
And lack of start I fear.

Her roads in life have been tough,
Even now their filled with holes.
She gives her all to get up,
Yet she lacks the strength as before.

Sometimes I visit a younger youth
Excitement doth abound.
Tried and tested, through and through,
I will return to my former view.

Her smell has changed, yet it’s still the same,
Mature in age, still pleasures came.
When she fades into the past,
Fond memories will forever last.

The Rainy Days After the Sunny Days

It was about a dog named Sunny.

She was a golden retriever. Nearly every person has loved a dog, there's only a few strange people who don’t really like the animals, but the majority of people do.

Sure it’s true that they have attributes that are unlikeable, crapping in your lawn and such, but overall, they are quite pleasing to have. They can be useful in many ways. Sunny might not have been as “useful” as some other dogs, but she did serve a purpose in our lives…

Sunny became part of our lives after my wife’s second miscarriage, as if the first one wasn't hard enough, not that it was her fault, it's just the cards that were dealt. She had a dog growing up, a yellow Labrador named Lucky. Lucky lived a long life of 14 years. She was a female dog that might as well have been the rightful heir to the throne, she was a princess. She slept in the bed, might as well had her own seat at the table, and when her body started giving out, had more medications than some people. Remembering all of this is where I got the idea for Sunny.

My wife was happier as a child. She played outside with small insects, bugs and such in the garden, exactly the kind of things small girls do. She brought Lucky along on the adventures, Lucky always willing to go, as any dog would. When I met my wife, she was in college, and back then, Lucky had a little more spunk, but still enjoyed their adventures.

We were married for a few years before attempting children. We, like anyone who has never been in the situation, thought it would easy to do. And of course, like everyone in our current situation discovers, there can be "complications", some more severe than others. This is where Sunny comes in to play.

The news of the second miscarriage was the hardest part of that day, but there was still a lot left to unravel over the next couple months, as we continued our attempts to produce a child. We would visit with doctors for new technology in the conception process, but as it turns out, we learned she had more serious issues.

The problem is that she was unfit or incapable to bear a child. It's an interesting way doctors give tragic news to their patients: First they ramble it off in their medical language, as if they expect you to know what they mean. Wait, let me back up. First they tell you there is an “issue”. They call it an "issue" because that word is somehow supposed to let you down easier; as if using this word instead of the word "problem" would make any difference at all when its followed up the medical jargon. So they tell you have an "issue" and then let you hang there with a noose around your neck as they explain things in their medical language that you, nor anyone who isn't a doctor, will most obviously not understand. Why? Because I'm not a doctor!

This is where Sunny came into our lives, she was meant to be that ray of hope in the darkened sky. Like the sun's rays breaking through the clouds after a thunderstorm, Sunny brought us hope for more pleasant times.

Sadness and depression hovered in our home, like a dense fog so heavy it makes it difficult to breath… making it difficult to live. It's as if the home didn't have any windows, and instead of wallpaper, all you saw were cinder blocks. Pictures disappeared from the walls, carpet was replaced sandpaper, and our bed sheets might as well have been replaced with nails. Life was miserable, and Sunny changed it all.

When I picked Sunny up from the shelter she was already two years old. She hadn’t fully grown out of that puppy mentality, but she was larger than a puppy. The expressions on her face were human-like. And she was so smart! When she wanted water, she would nudge you with her nose, and stare at you until you paid attention to her. Then she would lead you away from whatever currently were doing, and take you to whatever it was she wanted, like fresh drinking water.

It's been said that smarter breeds of dogs, like golden retrievers, have the same intelligence level as a two year old. Sunny had the intelligence level of a six year old.

My wife would often take on walks, up and down the road, this was her way of coping with her "issue", but as soon as she entered back into the house, the weight that was lifted, was dropped back on top of her shoulders.

When Sunny joined our family, that weight got lighter. She would wag her tail whenever she knew that one of these famous walks going to occur. She would wag her tail so hard that her whole backend would move, nearly six inches in each direction! Sunny always enjoyed watching the cows across from our house. When she went out, yet she never seemed so interested that she wanted to get close. Cows seemed to be just another creature in God’s green earth to keep her entertained, as did the bugs and other small insects in our new garden.

Our new hope came with Sunny, and even though we knew conceiving a child was near impossible for us, we were willing to keep trying different drugs and remedies anyway.

Now it was the spring time, and April brought the showers again. Sunny had turned three, and had never tried to run away, in fact she rarely left our yard. I don’t know why she did what she did that day, and I never will know.

When you live outside of the city, it is often said that life slows down, I would agree. Anyone that lives out here will also tell you that people drive too fast, I guess would also agree with this also. The cars speed down the road as if it’s a horrible thing to take in the scenery. The trees changing color in the fall, the ice hanging off the branches in the winter time, in the spring new life arrives, and in the summer everything is in full bloom.

Spring brings new life to everyone but us. For us, Spring is just as cold as winter, there's no new life, not birds singing, no bees in the flowers. We don't have a garden to watch grow anymore, the only thing that grows is the weight on our shoulders, and the walls around our lives.

My wife doesn't go on walks anymore, we aren't trying for children anymore. We have lost both our Sunny days and the sunny days.

The Nineteenth of November

I have decided to start putting some of my stories on my site, I have been hesitant because people always jump to conclusions as to where an author draws his inspiration, and the last thing I want is friends and family calling to ask if a story was about them, or about someone they know, or to assume it was from some event in my life. That being said, it there are, of course, details from my life in my stories, but I also have a very vivid imagination and am quite creative (thats a nice way of saying odd, I'm sure). So here is a short story that I wrote from my Creative Writing class this semester at KCC, it's called The Nineteenth of November. Enjoy.

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We stood across from each other looking down at the dining room table. Both places had a placemat, each placemat had a napkin that was folded in half, diagonally. A knife and spoon both placed on top of the napkin, and on the right side of a plate, which was centered on the placemat. To the left of the plate was a solitary fork. Each of the utensils had been cleaned, and the silver was shining with life as if it were a holiday meal. The plates were made of fine china, and the napkins that were made of silk were pressed and folded perfectly.

Placed on top of the plate was a delicious smelling steak that must have marinated in Jameson's whiskey, along with other seasons and spices, overnight. Next to the steak were red skin mashed potatoes that were mixed with rosemary, basil and garlic. The potatoes still had good sized lumps, that had an evening effect on the creamy texture of the potatoes. The garlic was finely chopped, not just a powder mixed in. There were green beans also on the plate, lightly drizzled with olive oil and some butter. The juice ran off from the steak and beans, and puddle around the marvelous mashed potatoes. It was prepared exactly the way I like it.

“What’s the occasion” I asked.

“You mean you don’t remember?” The slightest, most faint frown forced itself onto her face.

“No. Can’t say that I do…”

“Then guess”

“I don’t like to guess, is it a surprise?”

“No, you don’t like surprises.”

I sat down at one of the placemats ornate with food. I didn’t touch a thing on the table, I just sat there for a moment. She stood across from me, watching me. As I sat there, I tried to think of what kind of occasion would require such a elaborate display. I am used to eating on regular hard plastic plates, not the ones you would server for a party, but certainly not china. I am used to eating with everyday utensils, this, this must be a rare occasion. It must be something special, something fantastic, something spectacular, and something I should not have forgotten.

“It's not our anniversary, that’s not until November, I remember that.”

“If it's not our anniversary, what is it then?”

“Well, it's not my birthday, it's not your birthday or I would be cooking, and it's not a holiday…” my voice trailed off.

"You're sure about all these?"

"Yes of course, I'm certain."

“So you're positive it’s not our anniversary?”

“Yes. I’m positive. Our Anniversary isn’t until November, it's June.”

A look of sadness came across her face, her brilliant smile faded, and I could see her eyes start to fill with tears. Why was she crying? Today was in fact June 5th, I know it because I, well, I just do. Its Monday, we just spent the weekend camping up north. We wouldn’t go camping in November, its bloody cold that time of year. But if it isn’t our anniversary, why is she so upset? Why did she ask if I was sure?

“Why are you getting upset?”

“Because.”

“Because why?” I asked, the feeling of being a horrible husband was getting worse. “Did I do something? How did I upset you?”

“Today is not June 5th..." she trailed off, and then stated, "Today is November 19th, which means today is our anniversary. Our 3rd anniversary.”
Third anniversary? What is she talking about? We have only been married for a year. What the crap is going on, what on earth is she thinking?

“Hun, are you feeling okay?” I ask.

“Yes. I am fine.”

“Well you don’t..” I stopped mid thought. I know better than to say you don’t look fine. I know better than say something that could make the situation worse than it apparently already is.

“...well then what’s wrong?”

“Today is November 19th, and you forgot our anniversary again, I should be used to it by now." She said it with such ease that if she wasn't sobbing, it would sound like normal conversation.

"I should have known it was going to happen. It happened last year, but I just keep hoping you will remember. I mean, it's our anniversary, it’s supposed to be an important day, it’s supposed to be one of life’s milestones. It’s not something you're supposed to forget, you should be remembering the big events like this.”

“I remember our anniversary, I know its November 19th, I remember your birthday, its October 2nd, I remember all of our important dates”

“But you don’t remember today. You don’t remember that today is November 19th.”

"Today isn't the 19th, and it's not November, its June!" I couldn't help but raise my voice, it just does it on its own, it isn't because I was angry, or upset, or even because I was frustrated (all of which I most definitely am at this point), it's because I wanted to add emphasis, so that I wouldn't sound like a crazy person.

"No! Today is not the 19th and it is certainly not June." She walked out of the room and I could hear her searching in the kitchen.

I could feel the warm blood in my face, and couldn't think that I must look angry, which makes sense because I am angry, but why? Why are we even here talking about this? The sudden sound of her footsteps coming back into the room diverted the questions in my mind.

"Here, look." she says handing me a newspaper. "Today is our anniversary."

I looked down at the newspaper, and notice a picture of a soldier under the headline ... my eyes glide away from the headline to the upper right hand corner of the paper. "November 19th" I said it without even realizing that I was speaking. I'm confused, how could it be November 19th when today is June 5th.

"The doctors said that your memory would come back to you slowly, and in many areas it has."

Her voice now seemed to force the words out, it sounded almost as if she was whimpering her words instead of speaking them. This action alone tore my insides apart, how could I do this to her, how could I be so cruel and mean, what's wrong with me??

"What's going on.. What have I done.. What's.." The words were more difficult to speak than I ever imagined they would be. "What's wrong with me?"

"Two years ago we decided to go hiking-"

"Two years ago?? That was this ..." I stopped myself from continuing. How could this be?

" Two years ago we decided to go hiking, and there was an accident. We were on our way home."

Hey eyes were filling up with tears again, she sat down behind the second placemat at the table, she picked up the perfectly folded napkin and attempted to dry her eyes.

"You didn't want to go hiking because it was November, you said it was too cold, but I begged you. I was tired of hearing about how much fun you had when you and your friends would go, and the adventures you had with them. I nagged you until you said you would take me. You tried to put it off until the spring at first, but I didn't want to wait."

He hands were shaking, her voice cracking, I felt awful. Why was I making her relive this moment? I wanted her to stop talking, to just forget that it ever happened.

"I forgot. I forgot our anniversary. I'm sorry, I will make it up to you, I promise." It was my feeble attempt to make things right, it was all I could think of to say.

"It was cold, but I made us stay. I was determined to 'tough it out', and I did. But on our way home, on Sunday night, I was bragging in the car about how I was just as tough as you were."

She was bragging about being as tough as my friends. She was trying to convince me that she should be able to go with me the next time my friends wanted to go hiking. I told her I was proud of her. I told her that she made her point, and that I was wrong, she was just as tough as any of the guys I go hiking with. I told her that the next time we went hiking, she could go with us.

"I was bragging about how I was just as tough as your friends, and that the next time you went hiking, I wanted to go with you, instead of staying home, or going to my parents. You said that I could, and that..."

She paused to wipe the tears that seemed to never fully stop. Her nose was running, her face was red, she was sobbing, and all I could think about was the pain that I was causing her. How hard it must be for her to deal with me, to deal with a broken mind like mine.

"You were proud of me. I was proud of me."

She paused again, but it wasn't to wipe her eyes, or blow her nose. This time she paused because she no longer wanted to go on with the story.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I leaned over and kissed you. And in that brief moment three deer walked out onto the road. You swerved to miss them, but slammed sideways into a tree. I was thrown from the car, but you had your seatbelt on. The truck hit the tree, just in front of the driver's side door. The paramedics said that we were lucky to be alive. If I had worn my seatbelt, they said I would have snapped my neck."

A look flashed on her face suggesting that it would have been simpler for her had she died in the accident.

"Your head hit the airbag, but it slid off because of the angle that the truck hit the tree."

She looked at me. The look in her eyes was the saddest I had ever seen. It's as if her eyes were mourning a loss, the loss of me.