Day 44 September 17, 2010

So yesterday I was silent, meaning I didn't write any words.  Instead I just posted images.  

One of my friends who is an academic wrote a beautiful paper on silence and how to use it in the classroom setting.  Sometimes it seems the part of me who taught for 18 years in a school and 6 more years  beyond the classroom walls (as an English tutor, as a First Aid and CPR instructor, as a lifeguard competition coach and junior lifeguard coach) sees part of the reason why I'm blogging as an opportunity to create lessons for others.

Dare I consider that my own varied life experiences can provide others with lessons?  Yes.

Back to silence and how sometimes we learn profound lessons while silent.  One of my dear friends just let me know that her beloved dog experienced a stroke and may not survive long.  She has been crying buckets.  I shared with her a story from my own life that has a similar theme.

About eight years ago one of our labrador retrievers was dying.  We had arranged to have the vet come to our rural home to euthanize Joshie the next morning.  Joshie was curled up in the corner, not going anywhere; he knew it was his time.  He'd been limping badly and was extremely lethargic and the vet knew it was his time too.  Joshie had been my muse.  He helped me learn that I could lean on him emotionally.  He always seemed to know how I really felt, not how my polite self managed to face my world.  Joshie was my mirror.  He allowed me to face my truest feelings and I could share with him what I couldn't share with another human.

So when I faced his impending death I was quite sad.  There I was crying buckets on the sofa near him.  Our labrador pup of one year or so, Mr. Bear, suddenly jumped up and lay down next to me.  I ignored him.  He then turned to me and placed his sharp forearm elbows directly on my lower ribcage, so that I couldn't ignore his presence.  The sharp pain of his elbows made me focus on his eyes as he silently looked at me in my grief and stared with understanding.  His gaze seemed to say, I'm still here.  It's my job now to care for you.  Mr. Bear then slowly licked the tears off my face.  He had never done anything like this before.  He wasn't the kind of dog who had really interacted so directly with me before.

Needless to say, that silent encounter meant a lot to me.  It consoled me when I need consoling.  Perhaps you will be silent for a while today, to see what you learn.  For one thing, I find that being silent allows me to hear my own thoughts more clearly.  I hope it benefits you too.

Mr. Bear's paw

Ms. Windy