Roxy 2005-2018

Roxy wasn’t the dog

Who cared for other pets,

She didn’t like the lake

Or even getting wet.

But Jill she loved and followed

Around the house and back,

Always by her side

Hoping for a snack.

When I’d come home sometimes

And couldn’t find my wife,

I’d call for our dear dog

To lead me to my life.

The day I brought her home

The kids were so surprised,

They knew I'd said “No Pets”

(‘Cause I knew then, dogs die.)

Most nights when the lights were out,

With Lulu deeply snoring,

Roxy would leave our bed

And sleep alone til morning.

But sometimes late at night

When I felt a little blue,

I’d go off to see her

And ask, “So how are you?”

At some point in the darkness

Her little eyes would close,

And I’d pet her golden hair

As she began to dose.

Yes somewhere in the night

As I pet her fluffy fur,

Roxy made a noise

That sounded like a purr.

And for a moment we connected,

The dreaming dog and me,

Then I’d go off to bed

Or maybe just to pee.

But now my late night partner

Has crossed to the other side,

When I go off to find her

Tears just blur my eye.

And in the foggy mist

Of a late night walk about,

I wish just once to hear,

That little song eke out.

From the dog I didn’t want,

The girl named Roxy Roo,

Who lived 13 great years

Until the children grew.

I wish that I'd been wrong

That nothing lasts forever,

Sometimes we fall in love

It is life’s only treasure.

 

In a Foreign Land: Adult Tears

In a Foreign Land: Adult Tears: Tears are our first show of emotion. Most healthy babies come into this world crying.  And then they spend the next umpteen years cryin...

Adult Tears

Tears are our first show of emotion.

Most healthy babies come into this world crying.  And then they spend the next umpteen years crying because they are hungry or in pain, or cranky or hot or cold or any other misfortune that comes their way and they can't articulate.  They are feeling something and they want whoever is within earshot to make it stop.

Parents spend many years of their lives trying to do just that, filling their kids with love or donuts or stuffed animals or long bumpy car rides in an attempt to make it go away.

Over the course of his life I have seen my son's face contort in all forms of those tears and more:  The it hurts-when-they-give-me-stitches-in-my-chin tears, the I broke-my-arm tears, the I did-it but-I-can't admit-it tears, the I didn't-make-the-team tears.

But tonight I saw different tears.  Adult tears.  Tears of joy, tears that were one part relief, one part disbelief, and one part unbridled happiness.

Some argue that as we age there are more reasons to cry, but the tears come with less frequency.  Adult tears come in different forms:  The baby-is-healthy tears; the child-is-safe tears; the test-came-back-negative tears; the graduation from something tears.

Maybe this is, for him, a peek into his future of crying.

Yes there was pent-up relief.

In 2011 we were there for an overtime loss to the Lightning.



In 2012 he stayed up all night in London only to see the Caps lose a triple overtime game to the New York Rangers.  We found him alone and inconsolable on the couch the following morning draped in mismatched Capitals clothing.
















But there was something different about this year.  It wasn't just the team and their unlikely run.  It was how he began navigating his own trip to the cup.  Where he would watch the game, how he would get home from New York or Philadelphia.  Instead of me searching for tickets that would cost a fortune, it was him setting up two laptops and a cell phone to win a lottery.

I was driving home from New York on Wednesday when the text came through at 1:11 PM:

Son:  "Tickets sold out already"
Wife:  "Really"
Son:  "Sold out in 8 minutes"
Pause
Son:  "But you know who had their computer open to the ticket page 30 min before they were released?"
Pause
Son:  "This guy"

Twenty years ago I was in the same arena with my dad when the Capitals lost to my hometown Detroit Red Wings.  I was rooting for my team. I wanted to see them shake hands and hoist the cup.
During that game my son slept in his crib while players he never saw like Peter Bondra, Adam Oates and Dale Hunter played under the Caps banner.

My super powers to fix my children's problems diminished long ago.  There was a time when I could cure what ailed them by holding them close, a late night ice cream, or a trip to Funland.  But no more.

For 21 years his tears were a signal to me that something was wrong.  In this stadium, on this special night, the tears that flowed told me something was right.