The famous pink harness
Dear Pepsi,
I am on my way back from New Orleans. It was nearly a year
ago when I last visited with Jonathan. It was his first time and we stayed with
Amanda at her house in St. Roch. You remember Amanda? Heidi’s friend who
visited us in Maine several times and has joined our “pack”. Jonathan and I explored
the city together, as well as as spending time with Amanda, Heidi and David. I
love New Orleans, it feels like the closest thing to being in West Africa;
however, as with many other cities, the gentrification is changing neighborhood
compositions and driving up prices. Still, there is a flavor to the city
expressed in shotgun houses bursting with color, stately homes restored to
perfection, and houses with peeling exteriors that refuse to give up, sometimes
within blocks of each other. The food, music, art, and history are a unique
aspect of the American narrative of race, class and how we are mixed and
segmented at the same time. I met a really sweet Golden Retriever, his dad
Brett takes him everywhere and he is adored by neighborhood folks and strangers
alike. I smothered him with kisses and he licked my face. Oh Peps, I miss you
so much, still.
Pandy and Pearl in one of your favorite spots
I read this article about how hard it is to loose a pet - https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/out-the-ooze/201701/getting-over-rover-why-our-grief-over-dog-is-so-intense .
It felt good to be validated. Your loss is more than I can describe and I continue
to tear up at the mention of your name. When I saw David and Suzanne at the St
Roch Market I started crying when they asked how I was doing. The thing is most
times I appear fine. I function, talk, walk, and work, even laugh and have some
good times but my heart is shattered. I am always on the verge of tears,
swallowing my words rather than release them. Does it sound like I don't love Pearl and
Pandy? Because I do, with all my heart, it’s just an incomplete circle without
you. And I have never met anyone like you Peps. The truth is I have never cried
for anyone as much as I have for you. I am devastated and the article helped me understand
why, and that I am not alone.
Always at the top pf the pillows
Peps, lately I have been flooded with memories of places I lived,
before you and with you. I was a skinny 19-year old wandering the narrow
streets of Jerusalem, sketching and writing in small notebooks and scraps of
paper. A few years later I was back,
this time near Tel Aviv, riding buses to help me think, painting in old bomb
shelter and slamming down my can of spray adhesive to make mice scatter. I sat
at the shore of the Red Sea in Sinai, where the desert and the aqua blue water
meet, painting watercolors on rice paper. Colors of the mountains changed by the
hour. I read paperbacks and wrote in a journal in small cursive. I was on the precipice
of something great but unsure of myself. Truth is I was afraid if I realized my
potential I would end up alone. That led me to populate my life with people and
abandon my plans to attend Art Students League in NYC. Don’t get me wrong girl,
it ended up okay, and my life has been a wonderful adventure despite the ups
and downs. I had a great family, traveled the world with and without my kids,
continued to paint and accomplished a fair amount for myself and others. And I
got to be with you.
Mom on the island
Remember when I went on my annual sojourn to the Greek
island of Folegandros and you went on a hunger strike? Rena told me you stopped
eating for a few days. She was frantically trying to get you to eat, making
boiled chicken (we weren’t doing raw then) and coaxing you as best she could
with treats. You weren’t having it. Eventually hunger took over and you caved. Whenever
I took out a suitcase you started to ignore me, showing your displeasure. When
I got home you could not contain your joy; however, a few minutes later you
would give me the cold shoulder for a while to ensure I felt sufficiently bad
for leaving you. That was our routine for over ten years and I came to expect
it. The other dogs never held it against me but not you Peps, you were going to
punish me. Leaving the island was always hard; however, I knew
I was coming home to you and that was a saving grace. Your many quirks were
always accommodated. You often opted to sleep in the guest room but always came
to my bed, frequently in the middle of the night. You pawed the edge of the bed
to announce your arrival, I rolled over and smoothed the bed for you as if I was required to entice you to get in. We all catered to you and your diva
ways.
Since you have been gone it is like we are living a half-life.
Half laughter. Vacant spaces. There is always a feeling of incompleteness. It
is in Pearl’s eyes. Pandy used to follow you around and land wherever you
decided to be. I have a few confessions Peps, and don’t laugh. When I get Pearl
and Pandy’s harness and leash for a walk I pause to touch your pink harness and
kiss it. I close my eyes sometimes and inhale your smell, pause to think of
you before getting your sisters ready for their walk. I look
through the picture book Shakila made of you and touch the photos. I bring the
book to my face and kiss your picture. Pearl senses a change in mood whenever I
whisper your name or hold the book close. She comes over to kiss me, check in
and make sure I am okay. But of course we are not, none of us are. We are
reeling still and that is that.
Last April I went to the Portland Museum to see a film by
Laurie Anderson, Heart of A Dog. The film is a meditative artistic expression on
death and other forms of loss. It focuses on the death of her dog and mother. I
was moved and inspired by the film. I decided to start Project60, sixty
paintings in sixty months and a blog to chronicle the lead up to my 60th
birthday. http://paulagerstenblattproject60.blogspot.com I wrote regularly in the blog, particularly when I was on the island for four
weeks last summer. Then I returned to the States and my mother died. My work
took a turn. I thought, wrote and painted about her death. Not long after you
were diagnosed with cancer and I dropped Project60 to care for you and began
the Pepsi Diaries blog. I could have never known on that April night as I sat
silently in the theater contemplating Anderson’s film that I would be faced
with the same losses before my 60th birthday. I have since
considered the powerful statement she makes in the film, “The connection between
love and death… and the purpose of death is the release of love”. Peps I am trying to find a softer spot to land on; to be bolder, kinder, and to love deeper
as a result of your loss. To pay tribute to you and to my mom by being more
generous, honest, and overall a better person. I feel as if I am falling short,
eclipsed by my sadness. In these times, I know more is required of me and I am
trying to show up. But the fact remains you are not here to cushion the daily
blows or celebrate the magic. I know it is all still there, and I
feel it when I glance in a direction to include you. It is then I encounter the hole in my heart. I hope you are not disappointed in me Peps, but who else
can I confess to if not you? I guess it’s why I cannot conclude this blog yet,
and why I keep writing to you. We are not done you and I, and every time I bury
my face in your harness and kiss your picture I am releasing love, hoping
it reaches you wherever you are.
Love and miss you,
Mom
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