Dogs Are People Too

Jan's mom died two months ago. We took Riley with us to the cemetery earlier this week. Normally, when confronted with an expanse of grass like one finds at a cemetery, Riley becomes a whirl of ceaseless activity, sniffing every blade of grass in sight for yet another place to mark his territory.

When I patted the grave and told Riley that Meme was there, he became very still, and lay beside her marker until we left to go home.

Jan's parents had lived with us, and Riley loved having them there. He flew down the stairs to their apartment twice every day to get snacks from MeMe. After Buddy died, he started spending a lot more time with Meme. It was as if he knew that she needed him to be there with her.

But since MeMe died, Riley has refused to go downstairs. He normally follows my every step like a shadow. But now, whenever I go downstairs, he refuses to go with me. He will lie at the top of the stairs and wait for me to come up.

Somehow, he knows...

My friend Jeff Bjorck (www.purepiano.com) said that, although the Bible says nothing about our pets going to Heaven, it doesn't absolutely forbid it. That's a good thought; I would like to see Riley there. As it is, when he dies, I will have to go to grief counseling...

Riley at the top of the stairs

What Matters

Sorry I haven't updated my blog in a couple of weeks, but read on and you'll see that I have been otherwise occupied...

I've always told Jan that I love her more than anything in the world EXCEPT THE PIANO. Hey, I'm supposed to be honest, right? I mean, music isn't just something that I DO; it's a part of me, like my heart or my arms or my liver.

During the past few weeks, though, I've discovered that the reality of my life is
something else altogether...

Jan had a biopsy several weeks ago, and the surgeon told her that he was 95% sure that the pathology report would prove to be cancer. A week later she had a lumpectomy, followed by another path report to wait for...

Cut to the studio, where I was supposed to be working on my new CD, which is already way behind schedule. But was I working on the CD? No, all I could do was walk through the halls, mumbling "God help me" over and over, as I contemplated for the first time what life would be like without my Jan. Not that I expected her to drop dead all of a sudden, but just to look over the edge of that void that life would be like without her...

It was then that I realized that, without Jan, there IS no music in me. The part of me that hears and creates music would just cease to exist.

So what Jan hears from me now is "...more than anything. Period."

By the way, the surgeon was wrong. Totally benign!