My Hero (Part I of III)

To say that yesterday was a bad day would be the understatement of the year. (See previous post). I commemorated the passing of my four legged friend by walking to Lake Michigan on my lunch break, sitting on a bench, watching the sailboats float by, holding a picture of my beloved Cole in my lap, listening to Sarah MacLachlan and sobbing. I returned to my desk, solemn and quiet. Just when I thought I had cried every last drop, my brother called me - weeping - from work, and then I was at it again, closing myself in the conference room, holding him in a long distance embrace from Chicago to Boston. An hour later I called my mom to check in with her - she was the saint who sat with our Colebaby as he fell asleep for the last time. She shared with me the details of Cole's final hours - his meal of scrambled eggies and bacon (his favorite), the two scoops of ice cream (he must've already been in heaven!) The absent minded veterenary assistant who greeted my mom and my dog with a too cheery "And what are we here for today?" The poem she read to him, how he licked her cheek, how she held his head in her hands and felt it grow heavy...then cold. Coming home to an empty doggie bed, a water dish, a now useless fenced-in 'dog run' on the side of the house. This loss is definitely one my family will feel for some time, and we will all deal with it in many different ways.

I cried my way through the rest of the day. My friend and coworker Jim couldn't help but laugh at me every time he passed. "What?" I snapped. "I'm sorry, " he said "It's just that everytime I pass by your desk, you're blowing your nose." I pouted and threw my soggy kleenex at him. All day, well meaning friends had emailed me their condolences, e-cards and text messages. And each one brought a fresh enslaught of the old water works.

At about 4:45pm I'd decided I'd had enough of this pity party. I shot the dashing litigator an email. I hadn't heard from him all day, but knew that he was in the throes of showing his house and making stellar court appearances. I sent him a very sarcastic email, bestowing myself with the "Debbie Downer of the Year" award for my day of depression...my trail of tears. He replied immediately, saying he had just arrived in the office and was I able to chat?

Minutes later I found myself back in the conference room, behind closed doors, but this time I was shaking with laughter...not convulsing with sobs. He allowed me to talk about Cole, to share what I was going through and offered his utmost sympathy. He never had pets growing up (he was allergic) but I so appreciated his sensitivity to me. He then asked if I would be alright for my performance that night.

"I don't have a performance tonight, " I said.

He then asked if anyone was going to cheer me up for the night and what my plans were. I told him I had planned to hit the gym, then hit the hay...as it had been 'a day'.

We hung up reconfirming our date for Thursday (that's right, folks, THURSDAY. The dashing litigator decided that seeing me on Saturday was not soon enough.) I returned to my desk and sent him an email thanking him for cheering me up.

But the dashing litigator wasn't finished bringing me cheer. Nor was he satisfied with waiting until Thursday to see the crazy actress. He asked to see me later that night, after we both had put in our miles on our respective treadmills at our respective gyms. I agreed.

At 8 o'clock I'm standing outside the Brownstone Tavern, holding my breath as my litigator steps out of his truck and literally 'dashes' across the street - wearing his now customary suit and tie - to greet me. He envelops me in the warmest of hugs and to say he is 'a sight for sore eyes' would be another understatment of the year.

What follows is the most perfect ending to a very emotional day. We sit outside...at first across from each other...then side by side (I'm so happy he notices the too far away physical distance between us). We talk and laugh and share and grew even closer.

I confess that I fear he will grow sick of me...with this evening being only 'Part I' of a three part dating week with the crazy actress. He assures me that this will not happen.

I feel close with him and completely myself. Holding his hand feels as natural as breathing. I feel safe, cared for, beautiful, adored. We talk 'past relationships' (a typically heavy topic) and I am relieved to hear that we are coming from very similar places.

The White Sox game is on...it is a tied game, bottom of the ninth...a crucial game. When the patio closes and we are moved inside, I suddenly find that we are surrounded by flat screen tv's and rowdy sports fans. A 'typical' guy would look past me, easily diverted by the moving balls and ticking clocks. But he is not typical. I excuse myself to use the restroom to give him time to watch his beloved team. When I re-enter the room, his eyes are on me and only me.

This feels nice. This feels safe. This feels good.

I'm wondering what Part II will have in store...