Five, February 8, 1998-September 30, 2012

 Five is gone.

The last connection I had to Boobie, Almond, and Vixen is gone. He was 14 years old and six months (almost seven months), the oldest baby we had ever had. He was also the strongest. He survived two toad poisonings, but in April he was diagnosed with a liver tumor. Still, with a daily dose of Essentiale he managed to get better, till a week or so ago when his strength began to give way. Even then, even as he was being euthenized, he still fought, even though he didn't even know where he was or who was around him.

It was a tearful decision. It was not mine to make, since Five was not mine, but I counseled it. He came from Boobie and Almond, but he went to my parents. Still, I had to say we had to let him go. He was sleeping on his own piss. Ticks and flies were ganging up on him because he wouldn't even stand up. Five was fighting a losing battle, as were Boobie and Vixen, two other Alphas, when their time was near. These three were true Alphas: Boobie, Vixen, and Five. They just wouldn't let go. They just fought and fought, even when it was hurting them.

Some decisions haunt you for a lifetime.

Five has a story, left to another day. For now, I just want to remember him as dearest Five (Doc), the largest, strongest, and brightest of the litter.

We let him go today, exactly one year to the day his sister, Batik (Dopey), died.

How we will miss you, Five, dearest, dearest Five.

Vixen, Sept. 1, 1998-Dec. 20, 2011: Lovingly remembered and missed so much on this, the anniversary of her birth

My dearest Vixen,

I lit a candle for you today, the first time that I've done so for you. This is the first September 1 that I have to go through without you. What joy there was when you were born, and later, when I decided to keep you. What joy and comfort you brought to my life, each day you were with me. What torment there was when I had to let you go. No day goes by that I do not wish to be with you, one with the earth, at peace finally, with the babies I had loved so much, now gone, all gone. You are gone.

I lit a candle for you, as I do for every anniversary of my babies gone. Today is especially painful. My dearest Vixen, I want so much to have you with me again, healthy, alive, here again.

I often relive the last day, the last night. You were the best of me, and now you are gone.

My dearest Vixen, how could I have lived all these months without you. If there is mercy, let it come. I ask for it, I need it. I have lived too long, and I am tired.

Let me be with my Vixen again.

Fuck you, you win

Yes, fuck you, you win.

Maybe, or surely, I deserve it. Why have the small consolation of a victory when my babies are gone?

Just give me the final mercy.

To my gone babies: days full of love

My dearest babies,

You are all gone now, but everyday I had with you was a day full of love. I had many failings, and there were times when I lost my temper. But there was never a day that I didn't love you, and there was never a day that I wished something or someone other than you. You were life, you were love, you were loved--as you are now, even though you are no longer here.

That love exists now only in memory, in the pain that I feel over your loss, in quiet lamentations over lives lost and love cut short because your lives were all too short.

The pain creeps in sometimes. Most of the time it just hits me. My babies are gone. My Boobie, my Almond, my Vixen. All gone. 

I had wished, like every parent, that you would outlive me. But our life spans were different. But I wished all the same, each day spent in love, yet each day spent in fear--of losing you, of living a life without you.

That fear is reality now. From a life filled with days of love, I live one I can barely understand. This is life now, without you.

God and August nights

On a night in August, many years ago, I stood on the third floor of a retreat house on a hill in Angono. I had fallen in love. I looked down on the lights of the town, and I said a prayer, over and over, over a glass or two or three of scotch. Let me have this woman, and I will be happy. That prayer in the night, said to a god I know now does not exist, were "answered," if you believe in god. August was happy then.

One night in August, I watched a woman sleep. I had fallen in love. I clung to her voice, to her eyes, to her lips, her voice. "Let's be friends forever," she said. I see her face, her eyes, those lips, even now. One afternoon I looked into her eyes. One night I watched her doodle hearts on a pad. I wished to never go away. I walked away.

One night in August my baby died. I didn't know it then, but I cried. Something told me, somehow I knew. My baby is dying. The next morning I got the news: Garpy was dead.

One night in August told me "God" was good. All other August nights tell me "God" does not and simply cannot exist.