My next door neighbor used to greet the sun every morning. On summer mornings, I’d see him out on the front lawn of his house, doing this thing with his arms where he looked like he was embracing the sunlight and pulling the sun’s energy into his own body. He’s a sun worshipper. He’s told me this.
He’s 70 years old, so older than me but not by much, and more fit. Long floppy gray hair, thin as a rail-post, all the energy in the world, invariably friendly and smiling, and nearly always playing with his dog, Aja (not her real name). Aja is, in dog-years, older than he. Most afternoons, Aja would watch him, alert as only a dog can be, as he’d stand in the yard and whip tennis balls out into our never-busy cul-de-sac. Aja would lope out to the balls and bring them back to him, endlessly, for hours at a time.
He worships the sun. Literally. It’s a little woo-woo, and the more I’ve talked to him, the more woo-woo-i-ness I’ve discovered. Some of it is standard-issue right-wing conspiracy bait (chem-trails, space weapons causing fires and hurricanes), and while we’ll back-and-forth about it gently, most of his woo-woo is about how we are surrounded by love, if only we could perceive it, and how God’s love is literally washing over us in the guise of sunlight. Sunlight is God’s love. While we differ in the particulars (my gods are little-g and plural), I don’t disagree. I like him, and I like the way he views the world.
Both man and dog disappeared from the front yard about a month ago. I don’t see them every day, so it wasn’t a big deal at first. After a week I began to worry. I hadn’t seen any ambulances or police, there were no gatherings of folks at his house, no unfamiliar cars, no sign that anything bad had happened. Still. I am prone to catastrophizing (therapy-speak I learned from my actual therapist).
He was gone. I didn’t see him, or his dog, anymore. This went on for weeks, and as I passed by his house on my daily walk, or to go get the mail, I would notice his absence and my heart would fall, a little more each day. I’m sure this worry was as much a meditation on my own mortality as it was his; as I get older I note when familiar parts of my world fall away, and often mourn their absence. I certainly mourned his.
And then one day last week, on an unseasonably sunny winter day, he was back! Just like that. Standing in the yard, looking healthy, smiling as always.
“Dude!” I exclaimed. “ How are you? I haven’t seen you for awhile.” I gave him a hearty handshake, and resisted the urge to hug him. “It’s really good to see you again.” It was. I was almost giddy with relief. “I thought something might have happened to you.”
“No. Aja’s been sick. I’ve been taking care of her.” He gestured to his good buddy, who was sitting on the lawn, behind him. I walked over to Aja, gave her a scritch on the head.
He continued. “She’s getting old.”
“Tell me about it.” We both laughed, two old men standing in sunlight, next to an even older dog.
“Her legs don’t work anymore. I have to carry her everywhere.”
“Yikes! Is she in pain?”
“No. The vet said she’s not in pain. Just old. She’s gone blind too. I carry her to her food, and to the bathroom, and to her bed. She’s doing better now. She’s happy.”
She looked happy. He did too. We talked for awhile longer, about Aja, sunlight, the LA fires. Space lasers reared their head. I explained my position: most conspiracy theory targets are more easily explained by mere incompetence than vast multi-national conspiracies. I think I shook his hand at least three more times, the male equivalent of a hug, so happy was I to find out he was alive and okay. Even writing about it now, I find myself smiling.
He spent a solid month inside his house, nursing his dog back to health. I still don’t see him or Asia much, because they spend most of their time inside. Asia doesn’t chase tennis balls anymore in the sun anymore.
But I am happy that my friend is okay. I’m thankful his dog has such a loving and devoted owner. I’m grateful when I think about that unseasonably sunny winter day, walking out into the bright sunlight to see that my neighbor was healthy, and that his blind and hobbled best friend had such a loyal caretaker. Love falls upon us all like sunlight.
Once, when he was talking about the sun, and how sunlight carries God’s love to us, I remembered an Anne Lamott quote I’d read earlier that day that perfectly meshed with was he was talking about. I pulled out my phone, found it, and read it to him on the spot. I’ll end with that same quote.
“Love falls to earth, rises from the ground, pools around the afflicted. Love pulls people back to their feet. Bodies and souls are fed. Bones and lives heal. New blades of grass grow from charred soil. The sun rises.” — Anne Lamott
It’s a good quote, and I’m going to try and keep it top of mind in the coming days. Bones and lives heal. New blades of grass grow from charred soil. The sun rises.
Peace, friends.
Beautiful. Thank you for this.