Remembering
A speaker whose talk I once sat in said that she listened to things by applying the rule of three. If there was something she heard about three times, she said, then she would tune into it. At the point of three, it was worth paying attention to and learning more about. It was a signal that you might have to know something about this thing, this thing heard three times.
Since the time I heard this speaker, I have noticed when things come in three's. The book Eat Pray Love is a recent an example of this - Jeni introduced me to it, I saw the author featured on "Oprah," a friend at work mentioend it. Three times later, I opened the book and learned why this book had come up three times.
Today, I had another three similar occurences - and by the third, I was definitely paying attention. But this was unlike any other third. It wasn't a pop culture sort of thing, as three's tend to be. Instead, it was personal.
Last night, I dreamt of our late dog Molli. I do so every so often - there she appears, as her old self, so calm, friendly and still young. I always wake after these nights with a bit of a heavy heart; even after several years, I still find myself missing her. Later, I was in the midst of a day trip to Rochester, Minn. John and I played tourist (yes, possible in Rochester, we discovered), hitting up some of my old favorite spots. One of the spots of our "tour" was our old house. There is stood, oddly the same, at 73rd St NW. I expected something more to be different and the yard was obviously the easiest mark in judging such. The pines had grown so tall and thick. A basketball hoop had been added to the backyard patio. Yet the green door still remained, the swingset still continued and the dog kennel still stood. And there it was again: that reminder of Molli, something that just doesn't happen everyday. That little twinge of sadness and gladness all at once, at what was once and what can no longer be.
Because remembering can be hard, when it hits you out of the blue, and because sometimes I think to myself: she was a dog, I put my two recalls of Molli out of mind. The day, spread between St. Paul and Rochester, continued as normal. Later in the evening, though, I was stopped again. I found myself at Barnes & Noble, quite late in the evening. My hands full with a few new reads, I noticed a new Anna Quindlen book on the shelves. I own both of her other inspirational books and I find her to be quite talented at perfectly explaining things through the written word. Her newest book had a picture of a black lab on it and I picked it up carefully, unsure what I would find. I wanted something like "Being Perfect" and "A Short Guide to a Happy Life" - inspirational and uplifting. Related back to dogs? Not my normal style, but okay, maybe I could handle it because it was written by Anna Quindlen. I started thumbing through the pages.
What I found in the midst of this book was the story of Anna and her dog Beau. The story of Beau's later years in life and the moment when she and her family had to make the call to cruelly continue their dog's life for their own sake or to end it for its. The story of what a dog teaches and all of the emotion a dog can stir. And while I am not usually a sucker for anything animal related, this being the third occurence in a day of a particular theme, I was quite touched. I set the book down as to not get too involved. But I found myself picking it up again when I saw a dog endcap by the Romance section. And there, following the rule of threes and realizing that somehow I was being told to listen up, I actually took a moment to read Anna Quindlen's words. In doing so, I opened myself up to the memory of when we had to make the same call with Molli's life. I remembered, as Anna did, what Molli had taught us: that go with the flow can be a pretty satisfying attitude, how to be sweet, the joy of homecoming, how to be calm, how to show you can by doing something as simple as curling up next to someone, to fight past any pain. I recalled first getting Molli, her cornered in the kennel at the Humane Society near River Falls. I recalled saying goodbye, one long and hard March day. I recalled all of the times in between - her escaping so many kennels, her sleeping at the foot of my bed, her chasing along the fourwheelers time and time again. She passed on at age 16; there are many memories to look back on. I felt the tears well up in the middle of the bookstore and I did not know what to do. I set the book down - I was not coming back - and hid in the stacks until I had regained my composure.
Even so, I left Barnes & Noble tonight quite sad - the three times of remembering Molli in one day had caught up. And I sit here still, thinking how much I hate grief. Sometimes, it makes me so sad to think of what has passed this life already. What has come and will never come again. Memories of Molli inevitably lead to memories of my grandmother and other grandparents who I have long since had to say good-bye to over the course of many years. It is painful during these moments to remember, knowing that there is no more time with those I care so much for. I was lucky enough to know many of my great grandparents. Sometimes, though, this luck doesn't feel like the positive thing it is. Sometimes, it brings great pain rather than great joy. At the same time, though, I know it is a necessary pain. This is the why behind the threes of Molli today: because to feel this pain, it is to bring whoever you are thinking of back into your life in some little way. Such types of rememberance, as difficult as they can be, must happen - without it, people and pets and anything else, they are lost. Remembering is how they continue even when they are no longer with us. So tonight, I steep myself in memories, and all that comes with those snatches of the past. Tonight, I listen to the message: that which comes in three's, it is worth listening to. Tonight, I remember.
