The Ides of March

Tomorrow is March 15th. In Shakespeare's time the day represented impending doom. I don't want to seem superstitious, but the day does fill me with a certain dread. In spite of the fact that the Ides of March is the name of one of my favorite Iron Maiden tunes, it is also a day when painful events have occurred in my past. The first event occurred in 1985, when a relationship I had with a boy transitioned into something that tore us both apart and forced me to suddenly grow up in ways I did not want to. The second event occurred ten years later, when my mom passed away in the early hours of the morning. That was a silent day, where everything seemed to move in slow motion.

Years have gone by where nothing major has occurred on March 15th. In spite of it's significance, I have often lived right through it without many sad reflections about the past. I don't mean that I have stopped feeling sad about what happened to my mom, but the intense grief seems to crop up on random dates instead of on the literal date of her passing. This year, I think I feel more down because I am dealing with a current situation that is hard. I have been taking care of some border collies for a woman over the last couple of years and one of the dogs has been diagnosed with Leukemia. For the last month, I have been watching this old mother dog slip further and further downhill. The last time I saw her was Thursday and she was looking very weak and sad. I don't walk her very far anymore, but the old girl could barely make it across the street. I sense the end is near. I patted her on the head this last time and asked her if she could please not die on March 15th! I know that's a tall order for a poor dog on her last legs, but I don't want another sad event to happen on that day. I realize I don't actually have any real control here.

It's always seemed strange that March 15th has historically been such bad day. It's right near Saint Patrick's Day, which I've always loved. When I was a kid I'd decorate my parent's home with green streamers and hanging shamrocks. This year, I have two giant green shamrocks on our front door and we plan to go out on the town with our friend Doug on the 17th. It's as if the Ides of March moves in to taunt me with it's horrible ways and then it's followed by this festive day of Irish cheer. I wrote a poem about that once. It was called "It's Saint Patrick's Day for God's Sake". My grandmother, Evelyn, was Irish and she wasn't much for brooding about things. She was more the dust yourself and try to enjoy the time you have left type. Maybe I've taken on some of that Irish refusal to completely cash in my chips, even when everything seems to suck.