I Believe in Reality

Last year, I buried my beloved dog, Remus. He was a 20 lb. Boston Terrier that defied his small size. People often marveled at this tiny dog as he chased down a Frisbee, leapt and snatched it out of the air. But when Remus turned 9 years old, his spine became grotesquely curved, and he became gimpy on his hind legs. I took him to the veterinarian’s office , where he was X-rayed, poked, and prodded. The doctor found that he had a spinal defect which had been with him from birth. As a spry young pup, he managed just fine, but now that he was entering his golden years, it had caught up with him. The doctor gave him a few months to live.

A month later, Remus degenerated so much that he could no longer support himself with his hind legs. His appetite dwindled, and he lost so much weight that he was literally a skeleton of his former self. His moans and groans left no doubt that he was in pain. One night he pulled himself around in circles, as if he didn’t know where he was, and he yelped in a way that I’ll never forget.

After an awful night spent listening to his gut-wrenching yelps, first thing in the morning I took I drove him to the vet’s office. On the cold steel examination table, I laid Remus on his side, and I kissed him. I told him what I’d told him a thousand times before: You’re a good boy. You are the dog I always wanted. I love you. The vet injected him with the lethal cocktail. His pain was at an end.

My wife wanted my then three-year-old daughter to be shielded from that experience. I wanted to her be there with us, but I acquiesced. But had she known the relentless questioning that would obsess our daughter over the next few weeks, I think she would have chosen to do it my way.

“Where is Remus?” she asked, and without even thinking about it, I replied “He’s in doggie heaven.” As soon as I said it, I regretted it. It did nothing to answer her questions. She wondered if she could visit heaven to see Remus. When is he coming back from heaven? Where is heaven? What does heaven look like?

Wouldn’t it be great if Remus were in doggie heaven catching golden Frisbees and barking at the heavenly doors when someone rang the heavenly doorbell? It is a happy thought, but I wanted to teach my daughter the truth, so I took it back. I said, honey, when Remus died we all got very sad, so pretending he moved on to doggie heaven made us feel better, but in truth, Remus is decomposing under three feet of dirt. We will never see him again. Then I showed her a dead beetle on the porch. I said, see how this beetle doesn’t move anymore. That’s because he is dead. Remus is just like that beetle.

My mother, ever endeavoring to challenge my reality-based perspective, believed that once my first child was born, I would be struck by the “miracle” of childbirth. But after witnessing the birth of my two children, I see it as anything but miraculous. I heard screams of pain and I watched my wife struggle to expel those babies from her body. And when they emerged, they were covered with a white greasy residue. Far from miraculous, childbirth was about as real as it gets: bloody, messy, gooey, dirty, and real.

The nurse took her to a table and cleaned the residue off of her, swaddled her in blankets, and handed her to me. As I held her, I realized that the stakes were different now. I wanted what I could never have: I wanted my daughter, beautiful and perfect as she was in my eyes, to live forever. I understood why people hang on to the concept of heaven in the first place. Millions and millions of mothers and fathers have held the most precious baby their arms and they wanted that precious baby to never die.

My belief in reality means I must accept that one day my existence, and the existence of my loved ones, will end. On the other hand, reality can also be amazing, filled with wonder and beauty and smiles and kindness.

As far as I can tell, I only get one shot at life. I believe that by accepting reality, I am giving my life more meaning, more importance, than it has when fantasy dominates. I become inspired to realize my potential. I am less likely to waste time. I pursue my passions. I love with all my heart, taking ultimate delight in watching my daughter grow and learn.