IN part, because of this post I’m thinking about the ways you lose those near to you.

If there’s anything that’s certain, we all know we will lose those near to us, and it’s as if nobody realizes this until the moment of truth, so to speak.

When I was six, I looked at my dad, looked at the pain that encompassed his life- he’d had so many injuries in his life, so many illnesses, by the time I was six, I was in tune with his mortality. He died when I was twenty-seven. It hurt, but I was not surprised by it. Fact of the matter is, I was a tiny bit surprised he’d lasted as long as he had.

Hoosierboy talks about lkosing his daughter to the big world. About having her move away, slowly, first leaving for college then spending more and more time away until finally she’s on her own. I have that future to consider as well. My own daughter will someday be doing the same thing.

We know those moments in our life are coming, but we don’t prepare ourselves for them.

I see those moments, like MuaDib.

I look at my daughter and see her packing her clothes, books, putting her stereo in her car, driving off with stuffed animals in the back window. I see myself standing in her empty room looking at bare walls, crying.

I see the people I love, see the paths they take, see the mistakes they make, see the trouble ahead, try to warn, get ignored, then show up to pick up pieces.

I see too many things. I work hard not to have these visions because they are rarely incorrect. The more painful of them, I once tried to murder with alcohol or drugs, but there was never any point. Painful memories become hardwired, while the face of your child, beaming with joy at her first accomplishment, you have to take a picture.

Yesterday, while I was in Omaha, the wife took Patches to the vet, and while there, patch tried to bite both frances and the vet. They ended up putting her down.

This was exactly the outcome I had tried to prevent, but the inner vision had told me no, long ago.

Saturday we’ll collect the body at the vet, and place her in a deep grave at the end of my backyard, under a big walnut she particularly liked.

May the Indiana soil lie gently on her bones.