A year ago January, I could not conceive arriving at today with Nicholai in tow. After getting his diagnosis, I called a dear friend who is the owner and companion of one of Nicholai's litter-mates. "We need to set a play-date for the boys," I told her. "Nicholai has cancer, I don't know how long he'll have left." Hearing this news, my friend cleared her schedule and we visited that weekend, it seemed that time was of the essence. I contacted a photographer who has done the nearly impossible and accepted our family of four humans and three dogs for photo sessions. Somehow, (perhaps with a little digital assistance) he has managed to come up with family photos of the lot of us, where each of us looks at least passable. "Do you think you could fit us in for a photo session with Nicholai, soon?" I explained the situation and he made time the next week. It wasn't just me, the situation seemed dire, and no one expected Nicholai to still be kicking a whole year later.
This January triggers a sense of anxiety for me. It's like I'm starting over again, predicting, hedging my bets for survival times. I've got arbitrary landmarks that I want Nicholai to cross, such as his tenth birthday, his diagnosis date, the anniversary of finding him and his litter in the freezing rain at a north Portland park. His birthday, I think we've got that covered; with his original vet we figured the puppies were born between the 7th and the 12th of January, and well . . . it' s the 10th now. I can almost cross it off the list. His diagnosis, the 25th, his litter found shivering in the cold, February 12th. Once we meet those, I will of course get lost in the future and start aiming toward spring hikes and summer swims with more arbitrary deadlines. I wonder if my complicated primate brain will ever just relax and be happy and satisfied with today.
It's January, it's Sunday. I have my boy-dog, my girl-dogs, my human boys, and my partner. We have a roof over our heads, good food for our bellies, great friends, and a real nice hot-tub. The freezer is full of produce we grew this summer and I have nursed a small winter garden along, so there are fresh greens. The chickens lay a few eggs these days, and the dogs made it through a scary bout with salmon poisoning. Maybe I don't have to know how many days Nicholai will live with lymphoma. Today is a good day, maybe it is enough.
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