Monday, April 15, 2019

The Oppenheimer Report - 4/15/19

As I begin writing this report today,  the breaking news on television is that Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris is on fire and burning out of control. Concurrently, a message comes across the lower right corner of my computer screen informing me of this sad news. I watch this spectacle unfold in real time, like I’d watch a car wreck; helpless, saddened, but also fascinated. Eight centuries of history goes up in smoke in front of my eyes. As I’ve said over and over, the immediacy of bad news in general has had a cumulative effect on my peace of mind. Shauna just opened up Google Earth, and we had a bird’s eye view of the cathedral, of its remarkable architectural detail, and of its location within Paris. Virtually, we  flew over the building and viewed it from every imaginable angle, examining the roof which has now been largely destroyed. Last week, I spoke of the erosion of my contentment, and I am reminded to seize the day. Even this medieval edifice, in which Napoleon was crowned emperor, and which embodied so much history, will not last forever.

My sister Jill called me yesterday from her home in Virginia, and my immediate reaction was to panic. We don’t speak all that often, and since my parents passed away, we have lost what little touch we had with each other. The moment I saw her number on our call display, my imagination went into overdrive. What’s gone wrong in her family; has one of the kids or grandchildren had a tragic accident, was she diagnosed with a terminal illness, did her house burn down? Why else would my sister be contacting me out of the blue, after so much time? I think I’m experiencing mild and untraceable PTS, and such is the nature of my fight or flight state of mind of late. Why do I immediately gravitate to DEFCON 1 when I get a call from a family member? Over the past ten year, during which Mom and Dad were in the end stages of their lives, and then Shauna’s dad fell ill, there were so many didn’t-see-that-coming phone calls. I seem to have unconsciously harbored the stress from those events, and can’t seem to shed the negative thoughts. I follow my nephews, Jill’s kids and their families, on Facebook, and I take vicarious pleasure in watching their lives unfold in photographs, and reading their posts. This includes the celebration of new pets, exotic travels, not-so-exotic travels, career and educational milestones, etc. But the immediacy of all information these days, verifiable or otherwise, is increasingly overwhelming. Time passes with each click of a mouse, and with every disaster, be it global, local, or familial, I lose a little more of my perspective, of my elusive peace of mind. It’s all going by too fast, swirling like the out-of-control fire that destroys an 800-year-old cathedral. Well, that’s how I feel today.

I’ve heard the expression “heartache” so many times, but I never knew it was an actual feeling. I have been feeling my heart ache for the past few days, as we have arranged to have a vet come into our home this Thursday afternoon to put our beloved Jasper to sleep. Originally, we’d planned to do this Sunday, in order to coincide with a meaningful birthday, oblivious to the fact that it was Easter Sunday. Just shy of fourteen years old, our Jasper has reached her end. As hard as it was to make the call, after a visit to our vet, Shauna and I agreed that this is the humane thing to do. Right now, Jasper is sleeping soundly on the bed, snoring softly, and Shauna is cuddled up next to her. While she no longer knows who we are, for the time being she is comfortable, and she is not alone. Shauna and I will be with her until her final sleep. Fourteen precious years, measured by the life of a pet who has accompanied us everywhere, went by in a flash. I’ve have heard from so many people who have lost old pets over the past year, and I have vicariously felt their pain, knowing that this day would soon come for our girl. To be painless is to consent not to feel.  

Today began with a terrific snowstorm, then later the sun came out and the snow melt was trickling down our driveway. Perhaps this is winter’s last gasp. We may get some more snow, but as I headed over to the general store to pick up our mail, I noticed an ever-widening swath of open water on the frozen lake. Another season has come and gone, and I can’t help but wonder what’s in store for the next one.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED     

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