Sammy Part 8: The middle of the end

May 2014

“We should take Sam for a walk,” Tom says to me as we sit on the front steps of our Water Street house.

“If we’re both going for the walk, we should probably ask Mom if she wants to come with,” I say as Tom mutters his general agreement. 
Mom was just getting out of the shower, and Tom and I were supposed to be packing or cleaning or putting things into Mom’s car. We had just moved to Neenah, but there was still a surprising amount of crap left over at our Berlin house. Sam had been living here with Tom for the past week, while he finished up school. We want to play it safe.

Our neighbours have informed us of the “no dogs allowed” policy at our condominium, but we’re going to plead our case at the association meeting next Wednesday. Mom thinks that we’re screwed, that there’s no way the association will grant us an exception. However, I am forcing myself to be substantially more optimistic. If I let myself think about it, I tell myself that people are generally good. I tell myself that good people don’t like to see families split up. I tell myself that when they meet us, get to know us, they won’t want us to lose our Sammy. But mostly, I don’t tell myself anything. It’s easier to put these thoughts away in the back of my mind, to pretend that everything is okay. The alternative is not something I’m ready for.

Mom comes down from the shower, wet hair but well dressed as usual. She’s thrilled to be spending some leisure time with her kids. Sure there are things to get done, but we’ll get to them. For now, it’s just time for a walk.

It never ceases to amaze me how enamoured Sammy is with the familiar trek to nearby River Side Park. I’m certain she’s made the trip at least fifty times by now, and it’s clear that she knows the way, but that does little to curb her excited eager stride. My mom is left handed, and because of this Sam likes to walk on the left side of whoever is holding the leash. It’s strange the little things you pick up.

The walk takes us past the old one room school house that never seems to be open and past an ancient looking swing set which my mom and brother take advantage of. I sit by and watch them swing as Sam sniffs the dandelions scattered about the grass. We’re not really talking about much, or certainly nothing deep, but sometimes it’s important simply to be.

After a while, Mom and Tom decide that they’re done with the swings and we continue on towards the first Shelter House. Here Tom and I find a tennis ball submerged just beyond the river bank. Tom reaches into the murky water and retrieves the ball. I joke that the water will probably make him grow an extra limb as he tosses the water logged ball beyond Sam.

Here is Tom and Sam with the salvaged river ball.

She runs after the trail of river water that arcs through the air, and I think we never seem to have enough of these moments. The four of us together, talking and laughing. It bothers me how long it took me to realize how valuable these moments are. It bothers me how I’ve been selfish and self-important, because it has cost me moments like this. Things have been disjointed since I came home the first time or maybe even before that, but now, I think they are finally becoming sewn back together.