THE FUNERAL PLANNER

Chapter 9 Part 1: Critical Success Factors - Diving into Grief

Chapter 9 Part 1

As dawn arrives, so, too, does my internal alarm clock. I prac­tice my reclining meditation, and then by rote, reach for my daily action-plan page. But this time, I think twice, rip it up and get out of bed.

I address Uncle Sam in the Ziploc bag. “What would you do?” I wait a minute, and then nod. “Got it, thanks,” I say.

Two hours later, I’m standing at the bottom of Mount Wilson in the San Gabriel Mountains near Pasadena in hik­ing attire. I stare up at the Observatory Tower, 6,171 feet above me, and announce, “Well, as Uncle Sam would say, ‘Nothing like a good ascent to clear the cobwebs of the heart and mind.’” I take a deep breath and start climbing, focusing on one step at a time, forcing myself to hike at a slow pace so I can take in the scenery and foliage. That attempt soon fails as I find myself mumbling out loud and quickening my pace. “Go into the woods, he says. Go cold turkey on the FSJ, he says. Find yourself, he says. How do you find yourself? After all, I am where I’m at. Right? And how do you deal with grief? Just go be, he says. Doesn’t being still require doing? After all, to be is a verb that means some sort of ac­tion is taking place....”

When I finally look up I realize I’m more than halfway up the mountain.

“Okay, take this in, Maddy,” I tell myself. I scan the beau­tiful horizon and suck in the fresh mountain air. I’m about to continue when I hear a soft whimpering noise. I look around and under a cavelike rock formation is a skinny, mangy black puppy. The crying puppy awkwardly hops out from under the rock toward me.

“Oh my goodness, ”I exclaim .“Are you all right, little one?”

The puppy leaps into my arms. Its paw is injured and bleeding. I wash the blood off with water and tie my ban­dana around the paw to protect it. I look at the puppy’s face.

“You are adorable. What am I going to do with you?” The puppy licks my face and a bond is sealed, forever, whether I want it to be or not. I look at the peak of the mountain ap­proximately two thousand feet away and then at the puppy. “Well, this is a first. I’ve never abandoned a climb, but I’m certainly not going to abandon you, now, am I.”

And with that, I turn around with the injured puppy in my arms and begin my descent. What I am about to discover is something not even the best business plan in the world could have predicted.

For the next five days, my sole focus is the puppy. I scour the newspapers’ Lost and Found sections and place an ad in a dozen newspapers and on several Internet sites. I check with multiple dog pounds but there seems to be no owner in sight. I take the puppy to the vet and have her dewormed and defleaed.

The vet says, “She’s a healthy puppy, mostly Border collie with some Lab. She was smart to find you.”

I gladly pay for all the necessary shots and licenses and nurse the puppy back to health with the best puppy food my credit card can buy. I buy Puppies for Dummies and house-train her in one hour. She promptly pees on tabloid journals on my outside patio. Having her pee on the FSJ would be sac­rilegious for me and is therefore simply not an option. I am impressed by her quick-study. I buy her toys and play with her while trying to think of a name, even if it’s temporary. And yet, I realize I’m falling in love and that this puppy isn’t going anywhere. At least that’s what I think until my land­lord tells me no pets are allowed in the building.

I fill Sierra in on all the details of the past week, includ­ing the puppy. “The puppy sounds adorable,” says Sierra. “But do you want to give her away?”

I look at the black puppy rolling on her back with her head upside down, paws in the air, whimpering ever so slightly and staring at me.

“I can’t. She’s too cute. I’m puppy-whipped. You should see her right now, on her back with her paws in the air, pulling a Lassie and...”