[Critique Group 1] Sally's November submission 1603 words

[Sally Rosenthal]

Sorry this is late. I am having computer problems. Word and Outlook keep
shutting down and re-opening.

SallyLoving Laurence: October 2017

 

 

October 21

 

At first glance, it might appear odd to begin a journal chronicling a year
in my life with my guide dog Laurence in late October. However, I have
chosen to begin now for a number of reasons. 

 


First, there is the matter of time to consider. Next month, I will turn
sixty-five, a fact that amazes me, not only for the significance of my
reaching this milestone having been born three and a half months
prematurely, but also because I don't feel sixty-five emotionally.

 

A baby-boomer, I have, until now thought of sixty-five as old. As the
birthday looms near, I find myself changing my opinion of what being old
means. I have a difficult time believing that much more than half of my life
is over. I don't have trouble facing the fact that I will, one day, die; I
simply can't believe that the day is in the not so distant future.

 

With more of my life behind me than ahead, I know the time has come when, if
I actually am going to write an account of life with Laurence, there is no
time like the present. The traditional beginning of a journal year, January,
is still a few months away, but I am seizing the October day so as not to
procrastinate.  

 

Another reason for picking October is that the month has several emotional
pulls on me. My mother, who loved my two former guide dogs, was born on
October 13. Although she died several years before Laurence became my canine
partner, she would have loved him perhaps even more than she had adored
Boise and Greta.  Watching her middle-aged disabled daughter, who already
had serious residual effects from a stroke in infancy, become blind was not
easy for my mother. How could it have been otherwise? Still, she had learned
early in life as a young woman surviving bombs and deprivation in wartime
England that life wasn't fair. Living so precariously during World War II,
she gained strength and an inner resolve that she passed on to me.  She
realized, though, that Boise and Greta helped keep me safe and independent.
With all the changes that aging brings, my mother would have seen that, now
more than ever, her daughter needed a guide dog and that my wise and careful
Laurence is as good as they come.

 

October is - or was, rather - my favorite month when I could see. The leaves
changing color, the riot of orange pumpkins, and the profusion of green and
yellow gourds with multi-colored corn piled high in farmers' markets were
sights that never failed to delight me. October also holds bittersweet
memories.  The winding down of the year from cool and beautiful autumn to
the stark barren and snowy landscapes of winter mesh with many personal
losses of this period.

 

My father, dying from kidney cancer, entered hospice care three months
before passing away on New Year's Day in 2000. Outliving him by eight years,
my mother spent the last few months of her life in a less than caring
nursing home two hours away from me in the small town in which my brother
and his family lived.  Strained family relationships made communication or
empathy difficult between my brother's family and me, but my polio survivor
husband Sandy, his service dog Pumpkin, my guide dog Greta, and I made the
journey often to sit with my mother and bring her much-needed human and
canine company before she died in January 2008.

 

Watching both parents decline and die during the holiday season made
Thanksgiving and Christmas sad in the years ahead. Their deaths brought me
closer to my own and make this season an especially reflective one.  What
better time to look closely at my life and examine the ongoing changes and
challenges?  So, while Laurence leads me literally through the year ahead, I
hope my reflections and discoveries will lead me - and you who are reading
this book -- to new insights and perspectives.

 

 

 

 

October 26 

 

While Laurence, as most guide dogs do for their handlers, certainly acts as
an icebreaker in social situations, blindness can still be problematic while
involved in activities with others. Take church for example. Although the
Americans with Disabilities Act does not cover houses of worship, Sandy and
I have always found a warm welcome for our dogs in the Lutheran church we
attend.

 

For many years, we went to the Saturday evening service since Sandy's need
for home health care every morning precluded our going to any of the Sunday
services. So, when budget cuts and a smaller staff meant discontinuing the
Saturday service, we felt desolate. Fortunately, so did some other church
members who had attended the small, closely-knit Saturday worship.

 

With the pastors' approvals, we decided to continue as a lay-led service.
Following a set scripture weekly, we each decided what we would do to
participate. One member played guitar and led us in song; another gave the
sermon. I was hard-pressed to come up with a way Sandy and I could take
part. Given illness, wheelchair and van malfunctions, and providing what
care we could to Sandy's elderly parents who spent a fair amount of time in
the emergency room or hospital, we weren't able to attend regularly. I was a
decent public speaker but didn't trust myself without notes which I could no
longer read. Several attempts to learn Braille left me frustrated because of
spatial deficits from my stroke which left me with no alternative but print
notes in such situations.  

 

I have usually taken non-perishable food items to the church's food
cupboard, and the idea came to me of how Sandy and I - and even Laurence and
Pumpkin - could take part. At each service, we now have our "Change the
world with your change" jar. Individuals put pocket change or paper money
into the jar on a voluntary basis, and we go grocery shopping for bargains
for the food cupboard. By taking advantage of in-store specials on staples
such as cereal, peanut butter, soup, beans, rice, coffee, and tea bags, we
can often stretch an average collection of $25 into three or four bags of
groceries. This way of participating makes us feel like productive members,
gives Laurence and Pumpkin chances to do their respective work in a
supermarket, and allows others to actually see what their small amounts of
money can do to help people in need.

 

Would I have devised this food cupboard plan had I been sighted? Perhaps. It
is more likely that I would have taken part in a spoken section. Being blind
can often leave me feeling not included, but I have found, with a little
ingenuity, it is often simple to take my place in the circle of
participants.   

 

 

 

 

October 30

 

As much as I enjoy being out in public with Laurence, some days it takes
effort to work a sixty-six pound dog. Even Laurence, trained by Guiding Eyes
for the Blind's special needs program to accommodate my physical
disabilities as well as blindness, requires upper and lower body strength, a
sharp mind, and an attitude of teamwork. Lymphedema and profound genetic
age-related hearing loss now make working a guide dog more challenging, but
Laurence was trained with my needs in mind and has, in our more than two
years together, come to anticipate my weaknesses and work around and with
them.

 

Today, while in a store, Laurence and I took a break while my husband went
in search of something he needed. While we waited, a woman stopped near to
us and said, "What a beautiful and intelligent dog!" We guide dog handlers
hear similar remarks from the public frequently, so I gave my standard reply
of "Thank you. He knows it." While I usually garner a laugh from people
since Laurence, a fit and sleek black Labrador retriever with a serious
demeanor in harness is a handsome and kind dog, the woman who had approached
us didn't laugh. She immediately moved closer and confided, "My golden
retriever died yesterday." 

 

We talked a while about her dog and her grief. When she turned to walk away,
I wished her well. Believe it or not, our conversation was not unusual. I
have been the recipient of similar tales of loss while out with Laurence.
For a long time, I thought the confidences arose from people's ability to
strike up a conversation about Laurence and continue it with me about their
grief. Today, however, another thought occurred to me. I have no idea what
my grieving woman looks like. There will never come a time Laurence and I
will pass her on the street or in a mall and recognize her. Our eyes will
never meet before she turns away, blushing at the memory of our
conversation.  She will always remain anonymous to me, so she can share her
grief knowing the brief interlude will be our only encounter. Yet, it is an
encounter that cleanses her heart and gives me a sense of worthiness for
Laurence and myself. Even on a low-energy day, there is important work we
can do as a team. I bend over to kiss his broad Labrador head and whisper
that he just did work worthy of all his training. He responds by leaning
into me for more petting. While Sandy's service dog Pumpkin is extremely
outgoing, Laurence is more reserved and serious. Whatever he does, I have
come to recognize, he does with purpose. As I stroke his ears, he wags his
tail, not merely for my display of affection, but also for the part he
played in lessening the departed woman's pain. Many would call this
anthropomorphizing Laurence's actions, but I am attuned to him and know what
he did. He is intuitive and caring - an  old soul in a canine body.

 

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