There When You Need Him
Arnie and I don’t have what you’d call a storybook marriage. We met a little late in life, well past any giddy expectation of finding a soul mate. Still, we feel loving toward each other, share a friendly physical affection, and have built a comfortable routine for a day-to-day life together. But I keep a distance from him. It’s never been my way to reveal my fears and doubts. I was raised to prize self-reliance, so I don’t like to ask for help or reassurance. I hide my childish yearning to be held close and kept safe. But that mute longing to be taken care of, buried for years without light or air, is still there—shapeless and powerful— and somehow shameful for its being hidden. So four days ago, when Death glanced my way with a casual sweep of the eyes and...
Read MoreAn Occurrence on Interstate Five
After Grandpa died, Grandma retired early and adopted three big German Shepherd dogs. Two were purebred, young and impetuous. The third was a mix, older, and the smartest. Grandma was devoted to those dogs. In the evenings, they all attended obedience classes. Mornings, they strolled through the neighborhood and on weekends, romped at the dog park. She brushed their coats and scratched their ears. She squeezed them into the back of her car to run errands. She’d even bought a motor home just so she and her dogs could all travel together in comfort. In return, the dogs guarded the house, listened with heads cocked to her opinions, and nudged her with comforting noses when she cried. She was proud of their willing obedience and delighted in their companionship. They...
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