The happy-sad of grief
Though it was a hot and sticky afternoon on Friday, I was close to Central Park. The weather has been a bit of a mess so I didn’t get to see the cherry blossoms in full bloom this year. I decided to venture up to the park’s reservoir to see what was left of them and walk the path that my dog, Phinny, and I walked so many times over our years together.
As I wound my way through the park from Central Park South to 86th Street, memories lived around every bend. Picnics. Concerts. Softball games. Walks and talks. Museums. Some tears and moments of sadness. That’s the stuff of every life — joy and difficulty.
I passed by my favorite tree in the park, a great hulking beauty perfect for sitting and watching the world go by. The Pinetum that Phinny loved to nose around in. The apartment on 81st street perched high above the American Museum of Natural History that Phineas and I always thought would be the dream apartment for us to live in. The archways that always feel like portals. Inspirations for my Emerson Page books. Central Park holds all of it.
Though the cherry blossoms around the reservoir were a bit past their prime, Phinny’s spirit and I didn’t care. It’s such a beautiful part of the park and we spent so many happy days there. Some blossoms were still blooming. The petals were pooled around the tree trunks — how Phinny loved to scoop up those petals with his prominent snoot, just like my friend, Ashley, showed in the watercolor of him she made for me! On the rare occasion that Phinny and I would sit under those trees — he and I are much more into exploring than sitting — he’d look at me with his big soulful eyes and happy smile. Then after a few moments, he’d try to wander over to someone else’s blanket to invite himself to their picnic and see what they had on offer. What a hound!
My eyes teared up and I laughed thinking of all his antics. I was happy-sad. So grateful for every single one of those memories and so sad that our time together in that way has passed.
That’s the thing about grief: if we’re lucky, it always stings at least a little. We never get over missing someone we love. Thankfully, the world conspires to keep them close to us, memories everywhere and signs in everything.
