Loss

I lived in Japan once years ago. My ex-husband, two dogs, and I lived in Iwakuni. We lived on the installation there, in rows of suburban homes that unrolled like a symmetrical, unwalkable nightmare out from the airstrip. I remember the time wistfully.

I don’t miss my ex-husband.

I don’t mean that in an “Oh, I’m so over it” way. I don’t even see it as an entirely good thing. If my partner today said he missed his ex when he heard djent progressive metal music, I would be understanding. She was an integral part of his love of music; her incredible passion for music probably shaped an entire chapter of his life. The only thing I might miss are pianos. Every time I pass a piano in a public place, I think fondly of him. He memorized impressive pieces specifically for showing off, but would also mix in Donkey Kong and Mario, the old video game music that lived rent free forever in him. He would be silly and lighthearted and masterful. When I walk away from a piano in an airport or a park, I think back on those times and smile. And then I keep going and they fade away like the strum of cords coming to a close.

When his dog passed away, only a few months after mine, he told me to never speak to him again. Our dogs were gone, what would the reason be, he said. That’s not a man you miss. I was dejected after that, and my partner had told me it’s okay to mourn the loss. But I wasn’t mourning the loss of him and those memories we shared. When I had reached out to let him know about what happened to Charge, I thought he might be the only person in the world who could understand the gravity of it, having raised my baby boy alongside me. But he wasn’t that person, and the finality of his statement reminded me that for him their stories were just over. I was reminded that for me, our story ended a long time ago on the very island that brings me to writing all of this.

I do miss Charge. I miss him every time I eat a particularly chewy piece of steak that I would have shared, or any time I really, really have to use the restroom which he would have loved to forestall unabashedly. We’re on our way to southern Japan now. We’re on our way to a place I used to take a train to from my old home, and the colors are beginning to blend together, tears blurring the strokes.

I’m going back to Miyajima for the first time since the last time.

I took him on the ferry across the waters to Miyajima and took him on a walk. He screamed at a deer that surprised him. A shopkeeper welcomed us into a tightly packed Japanese knickknack store that we both tried very hard not to destroy. We sat on a bench overlooking the famous floating torii under scaffolding and tarp, being repaired still for the delayed Olympic games. It was beautiful. Everything was beautiful. I told Charge it wasn’t enough. There was an absolute hollowness to this perfect life. It was time for us to leave. Japan. My ex. All of it. We would start over somewhere and it would okay.

Even when I chose to leave, my ex had the last laugh then too. An extramarital affair would have been unbecoming for an officer, but instead he no longer had to worry as I quietly boarded a flight to Seattle and unwound my life from his. I asked for one thing above all else. I asked for my dog.

Cash had been Chris’s dog, adopted in college. Charge, he was my dog. He was the little puppy brought home from the Virginia mountains to keep Cash company, though Cash loathed him for at least a good six months. Cash and Charge.

Cash stayed in Iwakuni and kept my ex company through the divorce. Charge came home and lived with me. I miss him every day. Unlike the pianos, whenever I see a dog-friendly bar or do a hike we used to do, the fondness of the moment doesn’t fade. It lingers. It stays with me, it leans against the back of my knees.

I didn’t think I would fall in love again. I dated a bit, dipped my toes into the sea full of so many fish everyone is so fond of talking about. It was alright, but I was happier focusing on my life as it was. I stopped dating. But love found an unexpected way of flying into my life.

I don’t want a puppy. I don’t want to rescue or adopt. I don’t want another dog. I want my dog. I want Charge. I want the beautiful white wolf who stayed by my side. I want the dog who would “scooty booty” his way into my space every chance he got. I want the dog who screamed at the top of his lungs like he was being viciously murdered if I didn’t walk fast enough to the dog park or if my mom’s dog got excited about nearby children. I want the dog who would stand up and block the doorway of every bathroom I could ever need. I want the dog who threw a tennis ball into my mom’s soup so he could have some. I want the dog who sat on Miyajima island with me and watched the waters glisten beneath the distant hills of Hiroshima.

I don’t miss my ex-husband. Years of damage and suffering free a person from that burden. But I do miss Charge. Years of healing and love and laughter are irreplaceable. I don’t want to be free of it. I want to see him again.

Maybe someday, I’ll open my heart again. There is a lovely rescue full of people with similar stories to my own, who understand and might work with me. I also traveled back to Japan when I thought I might never make it back, so I can’t say I really know what the future holds.

And someday, a long time from now, after many more adventures...

Maybe I’ll see him again.