Sorrow as a Motivational Tool
People express grief in different ways. Here's how I do it.
It’s been about 50 days since my furry little buddy left this mortal coil, and I have to admit, his death had crippled me with grief.
Zeke was about as close as my wife and I will ever get to having a son. We raised that boy, showed him the world, trained him, and hopefully made his stay on this Earth highly enjoyable.
But alas, Zeke’s absence has been hard to come to terms with. No walkies, no belly rubs, no watching him perform tricks to get a snack, and no watching him run on the beach.
Zeke absolutely loved the beach. He would run with wild abandon. He’d investigate every aspect of the sandy shores; sniffing washed-up kelp and dead crabs; chasing seagulls; running up to other dogs for a seaside butt sniff; and occasionally wandering over to folks picnicking on the beach to see what kind of snacks they brought. He enjoyed all the gifts that a coastal trip brings to a dog.
Ironically though, the one thing Zeke hated, or feared, was water. He disliked getting his paws wet, so he’d do everything in his power to avoid the surf, or any other water for that matter.
Although sometimes he’d be faced with a wet quandary when following me on the shore. If I crossed over a small beach stream or pool, this would force him to consider his options. He could either try to jump over the water or suffer a quick trot through it in hopes of minimizing his paw dampening.
It was this love of the beach that I decided to try to capture. Instead of letting loss and mourning deeply depress me, like when my mother passed away in 2019, I decided to creatively channel my grief into painting a triptych of my furry best friend. This was my way of having him eternally enjoy his favorite place. I also created the painting for my wife, Deb, who also deeply misses Zeke.
Each painting is an 8”x8” canvas hinged together and backed with felt. It’s my strange twist on a gothic altar triptych. Here are the images a bit larger, if you’re interested.
Unlike my cartooning, my painting style is more realistic. To me, it’s an artful attempt at necromancy to capture a small piece of this unique dog’s soul. The creation of these paintings has helped me to process his passing.
Zeke’s demise is yet another reminder of the brevity of life. Sorrow and loss have become emotions that visit me far more than I’d like. One would think that the deaths of my parents and friends over the years would have hardened me up a bit to the specter of death, but no. I’m still overly sensitive to life’s cruelties.
However, this time around, I’ve seemed to develop some new quirks in my grieving process.
First, my internal filters are gone. I now find that while dining out at a local restaurant, if the waitress asks how the food is, I’ll volunteer a brutally honest response.
“Your chef has helped me to define the word ‘inedible.’”
“I swear, this is the best shoe leather I’ve ever tasted!”
“I hope your toilet has plenty of flushing power!”
You get the idea.
Life is too short for soft-peddled lying and false expectations. Make sure every bit of food that touches your palate gets your full attention.
Next, I’ve found my patience is completely shot, especially when I’m waiting in line or driving. Granted, as my wife will attest to, I was already far too aggressive a driver for the passive-aggressive roads in the Pacific Northwest, but now, Fuhgeddaboudit! Out of the way! I have life to pack in!
Pity the poor slob in front of me whose reflexes have slowed them down in operating a vehicle, a movie ticket machine, or a grocery checkout line.
“HURRY UP ALREADY! NO TIME! NO TIME! DEATH MIGHT STRIKE AT ANY MOMENT!”
My wife must be a saint not to notice how insufferable I’ve become.
Speaking of my wife, she’s also feeling the effects of grief. Except she’s mostly internalizing it—until she goes to sleep. That’s when her unconscious mind decides it’s time to externalize her emotions.
We discovered this one morning when we woke up and began chatting about our previous night’s dreams. We both experienced a fitful night’s sleep full of combative dreams.
Apparently, while both of us were deep in REM, we were in reality having loud, unintelligible arguments with each other!
Geesh, I hope we weren’t disturbing the neighbors. Then again, I do vaguely remember yelling in the night, “No! You shut up!”
Agh, grief.
The Bardo
Regarding death, I’ve adapted the Tibetan Buddhist view of death as being merely a state of existence between two lives on Earth. It’s better known as The Bardo.
I learned about it as a fan of musician Laurie Anderson.
Take a listen to her album “Songs from The Bardo” to learn more. Also, listen to her album, “Heart of a Dog” which gives a relatable tale about dog ownership, life, love, and the Bardo.
Once I started studying this concept, I found it much more comforting than any of the dichotomous heaven or hell finalities in death offered by other religions.
Honestly, I’d much rather think that, in some way, someday, after I pass from this current state of being, that I, too, will meet up with Zeke in another form. My guess is he’ll be reincarnated as a beach Lifeguard.
Just don’t expect him to save you if you’re flailing around in the water.
The Zeke Book
I’m using Zeke’s death as a motivation to kick my creativity back into gear. I’d been futzing around for some time on creating a book that was a compendium of my Zeke-inspired comics.
Zeke’s passing let me know I need to get my act together and finish this book. It only requires 6-10 pages of comics to be complete, so expect to see those new cartoons appearing in this column soon. I gave myself a two-month deadline for completion. Please hold my feet to the fire to meet it.
To that end, here’s a comic for the very last page of that book. I won’t lie that it’s a downer, but hey, that’s life.
It was the hardest 4-panel cartoon I’ve ever had to create while sobbing my guts out.
Take care my friends. I promise future cartoons will be much more uplifting and funny.
Ed
I met Zeke through your art. I enjoyed reading about his escapades. Sorry for your loss. I've lost something too with his passing.
This was a deeply moving piece, Ed, and your triptych is a beautiful tribute to Zeke. Zeke is the only other beach dog like Loki that I've heard of--loves the beach but is scared to death of the water. As you accilmate to the grief of missing Zeke, I hope you continue to find some comfort in making art.