Limitation of Art - Goodnight my Boy

Writing and drawing are magic... they make 11yr old orphan boys into world saving wizards and simple portrait smiles into mysteries. But they are not limitless. They are better at creating new realities than authentically depicting truth.

I met the perfect pup and for 13 years he was mine and I was his. I can draw pictures of him. I can write stories. But I can't recreate how soft his ears were. Someone might say 'soft as silk' or 'soft as velvet' but the truth is, his ears were softer. And words, pictures, can't depict how the thick fur at the scruff of his neck curled around itself, and around my fingers when I stroked him there. Or the curls where his back legs met his sides. Or the warmth of his pink skin where his fur was sparse on his belly - the place he liked to be scratched the most. Or the wrinkles that raised up when he lifted his ears - which was almost anytime he looked at someone. He smiled with his whole body, from the wagging tail that wiggled his bum to his lab-faced grin. Even when he hurt. He was always happy. He was always love. How do you draw that?

I'm heartbroken. I know people have faced worse  losses - I called him my 'first born' but recognize the difference between a perfect dog and a human child. I called him my 'soul mate' but of course he wasn't my life partner of 50 years. But he was mine and I was his and he was my one shot at perfect love. Perfect love. How do you write that?

The surprise came when he was gone. I expected the heartbreak. I expected devastation.  I've been there before, lost cats and a dog - lovely furry souls - but never my first born soul mate. Never my once in a lifetime.

I didn't expect peace.

Peace. Like he was still, not gone. He is with me. But isn't that where soul mates belong? I'm heartbroken and devastated, but at peace. And so is he.

N