Who "We" are

As I mentioned in my last blog post, my father-in-law died about a month ago.   His loss of life was unexpected and left the family in a shocked state of grief, while still having to attend to the unfortunate bureaucratic details that go hand and hand with death.

My in-laws had recently moved to a community that had a sizable Korean-American population.  This was nice for them since it meant easy access to Korean grocery stores, in addition to many establishments where they could frequent and speak their native tongue.    When my father-in-law died my mother-in-law found a funeral home that was recommended to her by many of her Korean friends, even though it was not actually owned by Koreans.   My husband even went with her to meet the funeral director, an older white (this is an important detail) gentleman who seemed kind and jovial.  My husband agreed that it seemed like a good choice.

I have to admit that much of the weekend of the funeral, I felt absolutely, positively, conspicuously white.   I had never before felt like such a minority.  Not only were the majority of mourners Korean, but we were in a largely Korean community, staying at a Korean owned/occupied hotel, eating at Korean restaurants.    If someone had told me that I had somehow been magically transported to Seoul, I would not have argued.     I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb in the company of pinkies (reference to the pinky finger, not communist or socialist ideologies)  That being said, my husband's family was nothing but embracing and inclusive.    One of his cousins went out of his way to make the girls and I comfortable while my husband took care of his mother.  Some of his older relatives inquired about my parents and my brother who they had met at our wedding so many years ago.   Everyone went out of their way to make a difficult weekend just a little bit easier.

The funeral was difficult but lovely, and when everyone finally filed through the receiving line, there were suddenly just five of us left, my mother-in-law, my husband, the girls and myself.   I watched as the funeral director was talking in a rather brusque tone to my mother-in-law and was surprised at how harsh he was being.   She had just lost her husband, he was a funeral director, why was he not being kinder and gentler?   Yes, there were details that needed to be tended to, but there was certainly a nicer way of handling things.    He was particularly focused on having a few items that had been on display during the service, picked up by no later than the following Monday.   My mother-in-law shook her head that she understood.    Then, quite unexpectedly, the funeral director looked me right in the eye and, without batting an eye said something like,

"They don't understand deadlines the way we do, when we say we are going to get something done, we do it, they, on the other hand,  do things on their own time, whenever they feel like it.   They have no respect for deadlines."

Excuse me?

I stood there with my mouth agape while the rest of my family made their way to the door, unsurprised, by what this man had just said.

I wish I had said something, but I was too dumbfounded.

When we outside, on our way to the car, I asked my husband, "Did he just say that?"

All he could muster was, "Yup".

It always surprises me how my entire family lets racism and racist remarks just roll off their backs.   Even my own children don't react to such idiocy.   And, in some ways, I think this is good.   I don't want my kids to feel every unkind remark, racist or otherwise, that comes their way.   However, I also think it is wrong to not react.   How is this guy going to know that his behavior is completely unacceptable if no one ever tells him?   He apparently gets the majority of the Korean business in town, and yet, he behaves like this?

Unfortunately, I was no better.   I did nothing.   I said nothing.   Yet, I felt slightly bruised and damaged by this man who had been so rude to my family during such a difficult time.   Yes.  My family.

As we drove down the street to the post funeral luncheon, and as I spent a strangely delightful evening in the hotel bar with my husband's extended family the following, yet unsent, letter went through my head:

"Dear Mr. Funeral director, just so you know, you and I will never be "we".   Even if you and I were the last two people on this earth, we would remain "you" and "I", never, ever to be "we".   The "They" you referred to, are my "we" and will always be.   "They" are the ones I stand with in good times and bad, "they" are the ones who comfort me and make me laugh.  "They" are a part of me, which makes us "we".

Despite this, I should thank you too Mr. Funeral Director.  You see, I had been struggling this weekend, feeling a bit like an outsider.    But, you helped me see my "we".    "We" does not discriminate, "we" is not about the color of your skin, or hair, or how tall or fat you are.  "We" is a choice we make.

"They" are my choice.   You can be "We" all by yourself."

There's really not much more to be said.   We stayed at the bar pretty late that night.   And, some of us had too much whiskey) ;)  The next morning, we got up, we had breakfast, and then we went home.  The car drive home was quiet as we were all lost in our own thoughts.

And, in case you are wondering, we are doing okay.

It's them that I worry about.

He's just an animal

When we welcomed our dog into our family almost six years ago I made a vow to myself and my husband that I wouldn't, or we wouldn't, become those "crazy dog people".   You know, the people who spend thousands of dollars on their dogs (or cats, or gerbils, or snakes)
 so that they can get an extra year or two out of their already very short lives.   I think I said something, "Let's always remember, let's keep perspective, he's just an animal."

Once upon a time our eldest daughter had an extreme phobia of just about all animals.   To say that this put a damper on our life would be a gross understatement.    Have you ever gone for a walk in a state park on a beautiful fall or spring day?    You know who else likes to walk on beautiful days?  Dogs.    Lots and lots of dogs.  Every time we took our little family to a park, forest, or anywhere outdoors for that matter, there seemed to be an over abundance of dogs.   This would send our eldest daughter into an extreme panic attack and usually ended up with us making a hasty retreat, and more often than not, with said daughter climbing my husband like a tree (his back and shoulders still sorely remember these days).   As she got older we thought the problems would get better but they got worse.   She would show up at a friend's house for a playdate and find out they had a dog.   Sometimes the friend was willing to put the dog away for the duration, but other times they weren't and dd1 returned home feeling defeated.    Also, after she learned to ride a bike (see last post), as great as that achievement was, it was not so great when she rode her bike into a parked car when she saw a dog in it's front yard.   We needed to do something.    So we started going to pet stores and other places that sold dogs who were safely in cages.    DD1 went on these outings with great trepidation and most of them ended with her running to the car and us chasing after her.

Then, one fateful day, when my husband was out of the country on business, I took the kids to a puppy farm.   There was this one little ball of fur that was just curled up in a corner sleeping and dd1 asked, "Can I hold him?"   Um.  Sure.   Next thing I knew I was buying the damn dog.    How could I not?     My husband found out about the dog through an email with an attached picture of our daughter holding the little ball of fur.   His reply was something like "Who's the dog? and, who is the girl holding the dog?"

As I drove home, I made the vow to myself not to become a crazy dog person.   Afterall, "He is just an animal".

My daughter's doctor warned me not to expect our dog to solve our daughter's extreme animal phobia.
When he was a few months old we took him on his first family trip to one of those parks that had caused us so much trouble in the past.  Before we even got out of the car I could see other dogs romping around the trails.    My heart stopped.  But, my daughter was already out of the car with our dog on his leash.  "C'mon!" she yelled to him as she went skipping down the trail oblivious to the other dogs.   As she walked past labrador retrievers and german shepards she didn't bat an eye.  My husband and I were dubious every time we passed another dog but she just kept on going.   It seemed too good to be true.   But, it happened.  We had an uneventful trip to the park.   Then, shortly after,  she went on a play date at a friend's house that had a dog.  The dog came to greet her at the door and she brushed right by him to go see her friend.   Time after time it became clear that our little ball of fur had worked wonders on her, her fear of dogs and other animals seemed to vanish into the wind upon his arrival.   Mind you, she wasn't, and never will be, a great lover of animals other than her own, but the lack of fear changed her life, and our lives, in unfathomable ways.

When the dog came into our lives the girls were 9 and 11.  They were on the cusp of the tween, teen years and it wasn't long after the dog came to live with us that the girls lost total interest in us, their boring parents.   Whereas once upon a time they would come yelling and screaming down the stairs when their dad came home from work, now they would come down to the dinner table and merely grunt to acknowledge his prescence.    But, not the dog.   The dog showed excitement worthy of a "welcome home from the war" return, every single time the dude came home.  It was like he was saying, "Jeez, I never thought I'd see you again.  I'm so glad you came back!"  every. single. day.    As my husband mourned the loss of the excited faces of two little girls, who were not so little anymore, he salved his wounds by petting the member of the family who was shaking his butt so hard in excitement that sometimes we thought he'd take off like a helicopter.   If one of the girls happened to be around to witness the affection being shared by the boys of the house, they might even saunter over to give their dad a hug, to show the dog the proper pecking order of the household.   Neither the dog or my husband ever objected to extra hugs and kisses being doled out.  They still don't.

When the girls became teenagers, life became more complicated for them.   They were changing and so were their friends.  Suddenly, lifelong friendships dissolved, and many tears were shed over this.  They would come home from school sad and distraught and when I reached out to comfort them, I would be told that I didn't understand, no one understood the "unique" pain they were going through.  They would disappear into their rooms for hours sometimes, and many times they would bring the dog.  Oh!  the things he's heard.  He's heard of heartbreaking betrayals and snubs and exclusions.   He's heard the names of all the boys that did (yeah!) or didn't (boo) look over their shoulder with a smile during math class.  He knows it all.   And yet, he never gossips. He is the perfect friend. Their secrets are safe with him, and they always will be.

As for me, the dog is my mostly companion (nod to Eloise).    He and I spend our days together in a very ordinary way.   In fact, as I write this, he is lying at my feet with the scar of a large incision running down his back.   Yes, about a month ago he had life saving, yet very expensive, surgery.    Yes.  The very kind of surgery we said we'd never do.

As many of you know, December was a very tough month for our family.   Right before Thanksgiving my FIL was fatally injured in a traffic accident.   He was in the ICU for about 10 days before he fell victim to his injuries.   It was truly awful, and to be honest, I am not really ready to write about all that transpired during this time.

I wish I could report that our dog was like Lassie, saving my FIL just in the nick of time.  But sadly, that was not so.    However, I can say that our dog slept next to me while my husband was away at his dying father's bedside, providing me with the needed comfort of a warm body.   His fur seemed to absorb the countless, mournful tears of sad teenage girls who are at a time in their lives, when expressing their feelings can seem like insurmountable task.   And, when my FIL passed away, and my husband sadly returned home, it was the dog who first greeted him at the door with his unbridled enthusiasm and his ever wagging, helicopter butt.

The day after my husband's return, the dog started acting funny.  It was clear that he was not well.  We went to the vet, first on a daily basis, and then on what seemed like a hourly basis.   Eventually, he became paralyzed and surgery was offered as the only solution to save his life.  We would have to go to a special surgical hospital, our local vet did not have the necessary equipment.

As I drove the half an hour to the hospital I thought of the promise we had made almost six years ago when he first came into our lives.  The promise to not become crazy dog people.   I also thought about how much he had changed our lives, how he had saved my daughter from a life doomed to being a homebound recluse, how he gave his love so freely without any expectation, how he kept all our deepest, darkest secrets, and how he had comforted us in our darkest hour.   He had done all this and yet,

"He's just an animal."

And, yes, I kept my promise.  I never forgot exactly who he was.