You’re My Best Friend

Maize was a very good boy. Dogs are inherently good, and if we treat them with love they will love us back—unconditionally. If you teach your dog how to be a very good boy, he’ll be the best boy. Our dogs are exactly what we need them to be, and that’s why Maize meant so much to me, because I needed him to.

When I moved to Chicago, I was uncertain and alone. I was worried about living by myself and didn’t know anyone in the city. I didn’t even have a fulltime job when I made the move. But I knew that I’d be safe if I had Maize by my side. He was someone to come home to, someone who counted on me and he was such a happy boy. He was my security alarm and my safety net.

And when I needed him most, he was up to the task. When I was released from the hospital following my biking accident, I was scared to see Maize. I thought he’d be too wild, too aggressive. I thought he’d jump on me out of excitement, that I’d be too weak to handle it. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Maize was gentle and kind. He was so sweet and sensitive. He wagged his tail in excitement, and gave me the space and tenderness I needed. Throughout my recovery, he stayed by my side, loyal and protective. He made me feel just as he always had; he made me feel safe. And he hasn’t left my side since.

Today, I said goodbye to Maize. I tried my best to help my good boy feel safe and secure, just as he’s always done for me. We had 12 wonderful years together, and I’m so thankful for all he gave me and all he taught me.

Thank you, Maize, for teaching me how to be responsible and independent. Thank you for teaching me kindness and patience. Thank you for your fierce loyalty and complete trust. You helped me grow up, you helped me become who I am today. I am so thankful I had the joy of loving you and being a part of your family.

Rest well, sweet boy. I’ll always remember you.

Today was a Sad Day

I’m not sure just why, but today was a sad day. It loomed over me on my morning walk. The air was crisp, not as humid as it had been. The sky was fresh blue, but there was something lurking in the distance.

As the day went on, these suspicions were confirmed. A reminder of a court hearing appeared on my Newsfeed – I wished them well (this has been left intentionally vague). Later, the follow up for that hearing’s sentencing was delivered to me via text, and my eyes welled. I was left with so many questions. But there was one thing that mattered the most:

I feel more at peace.

In this life, we are touched by so many. Those who are close to us, related by blood. Those who we pick up along the way, the ones who feel like they were meant to be in your bloodline. But then there are the ones we never meet, the ones whose stories we read, the ones whose lives never directly cross our paths. And yet, somehow, our lives can still be touched by theirs.

To the family who lost their sister, their mother, their daughter too soon: You are in my thoughts.

What’s a Tragedy?

I’m sure if I had a lot of followers, I would get a lot of backlash for what I’m going to say in this post. However, I don’t, so I’m not too worried about it.

With the breaking news of Philip Seymour Hoffman’s death (may he rest in peace), social media has been set ablaze with grieving fans posting about the “tragedy.” From what I have read, it sounds like this was the result of an overdose – please, correct me if I’m wrong.

Of course, death is a difficult thing for many to warp their heads around, especially when it comes unexpectedly. I don’t blame these people for grieving. However, I do not think that ODing constitutes the same response as an actual tragedy would. In my opinion, a tragedy marks reference to something that was out of the victim’s own control: terrorist attacks, disease, murder. But choosing to pump yourself full of too many drugs and paying the ultimate consequence for those actions? No, that’s not a tragedy.

Now, don’t think that I don’t find the news of Hoffman’s death sad. I am, after all, human – of course I do. I enjoyed his work and think it’s a shame for him to have left this world at just 46. I also wonder what led him to an early grave? There’s always a driving force behind addiction.

I’m hesitant to post this, or at least to link to it on my social media profiles. In no way am I looking to spark a controversy, this is just something I’ve often thought when hearing breaking news of celebrity deaths from over doses, reckless driving and other unhealthy decisions. Shouldn’t I feel safe to feel my thoughts on my personal blog anyway?