You Don’t Know Jack

You Don’t Know Jack

Jack really didn’t know ME all too well until Momma was gone. We had always grown up with dogs, but Jack Daniel was one of Momma’s later acquisitions pursued in an attempt to fill a hole in her heart caused by the passing of yet another dog. I’ve mentioned before that Momma wasn’t classically maternal in the sense that she busied herself with care giving- she just needed to have living creatures around her to see and love. She made no real attempts to train her dogs. They ruled the roost. She needed them but she didn’t put much effort into them.

As a result of her extreme desire to stay inside and avoid people, Jack never really got socialized. He was as sweet as could be in his own little world and became attached to Daddy. Funny that Momma pushed for the dog against Daddy’s wishes but she won and that was foreshadowing for a relationship that Daddy probably didn’t realize he would ultimately need.

Jack was eventually the only dog left when Momma became advanced in her illnesses and I am certain he picked up on the changes and tensions at home over the years. I used to show up to check on things in either South Boston or Fredericksburg and he would bark and growl defiantly at me. He became my target – my frustrations with my mother (cultivated over many years of exasperation on my part because I didn’t understand her nor she me) translated into exasperation for not taking what I believed to be proper care of her animals making me seethe. I once looked Jack In the eye and told him that I hated him. After a stunned silence he answered with a ferocious growl and then turned and walked off giving me a metaphorical finger – his stubby tail ramrod straight. I was happy that I pissed him off.

I’m now certain that some of Momma’s avoidance of HER self care (which translated into care of those around her) came from early undiagnosed Parkinson’s, but a lot of her denial and avoidance was just her personality. She never took care of herself. She did not work, drive, exercise, attempt to make friends, initiate family gatherings. Walk her dogs. Teach them not to pee in the house. It may sound like I’m criticizing her. I’m not. I’ve got a list of my own issues and struggles a mile long and I’m long past that level of frustration. I’m NOT her. I am of her and I loved her. But I have freed myself of the anger I used to harbor over her perceived deficiencies. Jack was an easy target of my displacement.

Eventually Jack helped me see more clearly. True, Momma made no attempt to socialize him and Daddy sure as hell couldn’t do it because he was managing a town and caring for my mother. It wasn’t Jack’s fault. He was a product of his early environment just like Momma. She was forced to socialize and take part in societal activities that she could have cared less about. It caused her to retreat inside herself. So, Jack wasn’t expected to socialize because that would require Momma to.

When Momma died, Jack became Daddy’s most trusted companion. He was there with unconditional love for a man who so desperately needed and deserved it. Care giving wore him down, but somehow that codependency role formed with Momma transferred to Jack and they were inseparable in their grief.

Then Daddy moved up here and the Jack I thought I knew became so much more than an untrained dog.

I didn’t know Jack. I found out that he was a mender of broken hearts. He was a friend. He was a connection. He was a savior. He was good company. He was a playmate. He was innocent. He was a bridge between my mother and father. He was hope. He was essential. He was a promise.

Jack died in June. He was almost 14. He just wanted to be the Jack he was born to be. Sounds like someone else I knew. Happy Birthday Momma. Say hey to Jack for me.