Friday, October 17, 2014

China - by Theo Harpaz

In my last post on our loss of our beloved China, I mentioned Theo writing a "memoir" on the subject. I hoped then that I would have the opportunity to help him further past the initial draft I had just read at that point. It just didn't happen and holy cow am I glad he tackled this on his own and went further than our expectations (and having him, they're already high). I'm bursting with pride and honor for being given the go ahead to pass this along to my public and beyond, as Theo shares his "old soul" 10 year old words of wisdom in profound and poetic form...

CHINA
Death and Life
By Theo Harpaz
You’re lucky if you have never seen it. Death...looked Death right in the eyes, seen Death’s face. Looking at you with a secret, evil grin. You’re lucky if you have never heard of Death, thought about what Death is and what Death looks like. But the people that have seen Death, thought about Death, then you know what it is like. You know the strange feeling of Death looking at you. When your chin starts to tremble, you bite your lip. Then Death starts to laugh. I have seen Death. I have just told you a little bit of what Death feels like. It happened a couple of days ago.
She was in the hospital with a blank look in her eyes. Not able to move. She was melting away, into the darkness of Death. She was our family. A sister to me, like no other. When I was born, when I first opened my eyes, I saw her long snout and her wide, curious eyes. She tried to lick me. China was fourteen, an old lady when Death took her. She was still a beautiful dog.
“China! I love you. You were the first thing I saw and I will be the last thing you see.” That was the final thing I said to her. I laid my head on her belly and listened. Listened to her slow, steady heartbeats. Listened to her long, deep breaths. The next moment two women came in the room, one with a needle. The needle was long and sharp, with a pink fluid inside. The first women took the needle and pushed it into China’s leg. That was the first time I heard Death. It was snarling. After that, all I heard was China’s yelling. Her low, old voice.
I looked into her eyes and I didn’t see her anymore. I saw Death. I saw Death’s secret, evil grin. Then Death started to laugh. It laughed while I cried. I cried until I got home. The experience made me mad. Mad at China because she let Death take her. No, I wasn’t mad at China. I was mad at Death. All the anger and confusion made me tired.
I was a baby, looking at China. She licked my face and I felt the curiosity in her. It was all happy. The scene shifted, I was in the hospital holding China. She was a baby again but I was the same age. She was so cute. Then she started to melt away. Away from my grasp and into Death’s. The scene shifted again and I was holding Roody, China’s brother. He looked at me with his deep brown eyes. I saw something... something moving in his eyes. It was China. But not China and Death. China and Life.
Death may be evil, but you learn something from it. Death makes you wiser. Death shows you the path to find Life. Life makes you wiser. If you end up seeing Death, you will find Life. That is what I learned after China died. I found Roody. That cute dog that I haven’t really noticed like I see him now. He has changed. I have changed. We have just begun our journey of Life.


Thursday, September 25, 2014

China

Fourteen years ago a tiny little 6 week old puppy named Venus appeared in our just barely settled into married lives. Against all odds of us having a puppy at the time, we took a leap of faith and made her our own - a Harpaz. We renamed her China, influenced by Orit studying Chinese Medicine and Acupuncture at the time. And we fell in love. I more than Orit, causing a little jealousy friction in our youthful discovery of mutual shared living and life. I was head over heels and could afford to be (maybe the wrong word as we had just moved to LA and I was out of work, but had time for her). We quickly grew past the jealousy issues and took her on mutually as our first kid. A test of responsibility before the real deal. Haven't looked back since - until now. On September 20th she passed and the tears are just drying up enough to let this quiet time of the Jewish New Year and Day of Atonement - a period of introspection and reflection, and go with the call of the fingers, heart and mind to tell her story.

My son, Theo, just began to write a "memoir" in his school notebook as part of an on-going class exercise. I call it an essay, and we fight about that. But for the sake of here, since he'll read this, we'll call it a memoir. His topic is naturally about China. The dog and sister he's known since day zero. And being that her passing was a very dramatic, intense, close-knit, and quick ordeal that affected me like a child at 42, he in turn made his age of 10 look as mature and wise as I still aspire to at 42. And the angle he chose to write about, of "looking death in the eye" sounds years ahead of his time, as he is, and I'll explain later when touching on the actual moment. He's reached out for help in polishing it and making it a better and more "meaningful and powerful" piece. It's powerful as is and raw and needs a little help to sound like it came out of a well seasoned writer, but not much. I take great pride in that. And maybe one day, he'll chose to share his piece publicly with his audience, and maybe mine. But that'll be his deal. I've got mine. 

China has had 6 Acts to her life. Act I - born somewhere unknown in LA and given up on the streets at 5 weeks by a young guy that was gonna get kicked out of his apartment. Taken in temporarily by a Yoga studio owner in Larchmont Village. Act II - Orit goes in to drop off promo's and leaves with a puppy for me to meet and of course adopted by us the following day. Begin what turned out to be a long life as a Harpaz. We live in West Hollywood. Act III - We move up to the West Hollywood hills to a small guesthouse. China is 8 months old. This Act deserves a paragraph of it's own.

Within days of living there, standing outside I hear from over the fence, "po---tty, potty, potty, potty" and then again, "po---tty, potty, potty, potty." and I couldn't see but had to ask... and I think I scared her when I said hi... And that was the day I met Chelsea, who was trying to command her puppy Newton to poop unknowing she was within a new neighbors earshot. And so the love affair of China and Newton (who was a girl) began. And our unique little corner of Hollywood and Queens up in the hills made for a most enchanting life for two dogs who fully took advantage of complete ownership of both homes and their inhabiting families. Mark had a doggy door made in the adjoining fence between the two properties. It was always open and wide enough for us to squeeze through if need be too, so that pretty much tells the story of what was to come. Mark and Chelsea had the pool and the terraced land for the pups to run, do their chasing and ferocious battles as all pups should. When the cover was on the pool it was a stomping ground and trampoline for the two. Cover off and China turned into a can't get enough leaping/flying/diving fetcher of whatever you would throw in there for however you were willing to do so. To the verge of drowning from fatigue, she just couldn't get enough. She was like that in the ocean too. They alternated their quiet moments either with us or with them, but always together. Getting comfortable on either one of the two homes furnishings, dog beds, beds, or people. Actively engaging one another or comfortable in their quiet moments. We went to dog parks and hikes and beaches taking Newton with us and they vice versa. Trips were never a concern as we could always rely on one another. The two dogs needn't ever concern themselves over anything. Not a worry in their doggy world. 4 years we lived there. I enjoyed my life then as a human on this earth. But, this was certainly a dogs life and I wish I was living theirs of that moment in time forever (if Orit could have been Newton and I China, naturally). Theo was born right there in that home, into that setting. China was was right there trying to get at his crowning head first. She witnessed the miracle of birth and life and him taking his first breath. She watched over him thereafter. He's grown up hearing the stories and slightly remembering little vignettes of that time. Newton, who later was named NuNu by Theo as he discovered speech, was not present at the birth but was an active participant of our family life within hours of it, which in turn prepared her for her own future role on the other side of the fence.  

Act IV began when the sad day came that the Harpaz family had to move on to a larger dwelling. On the one hand we moved not far away (naively thinking that made a difference) with a large yard and much more space. On the other we lost our community. Our village. Our special place and situation. And China lost her pal. And that was sad. And like the circle of life, we had to press on and figure it out. So...

Act V - enter Roody. We got her another pal. Not a replacement for NuNu, as that just couldn't be. But yes a replacement. Someone different and new to hang through the next stages of life (as btw, NuNu gets a new pal too once we leave). And for the following almost 9 years, so it went. China was a human stuck in a dogs body. She understood full sentences, recognized voices over the phone, watched Animal Planet and spoke back. You could actually talk to her and she would get you. She was strong and athletic and beautiful. Her eyes were gentle and features lady-like and soft. Always independent of affection, yet affectionately present to touch on her terms. She was a special dog as every individual is. She was just ours and a part of us. And true to the nature of a dog, she got to understand us and adapt to our world. This Human world they all live in. We were totally exposed to her as she to us. She knew everything there is to know about us. And we of her. So much, yet so little. They are still and after all, bewildering beasts. What you get is a combination of what you put in and natures luck. And nature is powerful. You roll with that and call it your own. That's what family is. This was the longest and main Act of this play. The one that included the majority of life through exciting times and the mundane. The nitty gritty every day by day.

Which brings us to the final Act VI - the unfortunate end. As in humans there's a long middle age period where one doesn't really change much and then suddenly they're old and look old and act old. China went through that. Last year we started to notice that she got old. Her hearing was going. Her interest and listening to us seemed less attentive. The old lady that did things more slowly and on her own terms. We sort of settled into that and got used to it too. Albeit, while beginning the discussions of an end to come sooner than later. And you can talk and talk and think you'll be prepared and ready for that day. And then it comes and knocks you down cold. I'll spare the details of her very quick demise from stroke to death within 24hrs. Chelsea (NuNu's mom) came over along with our friend Sky who had her own relationship with China, and spent time with her and us in those last moments before the end. That was meaningful to all of us. I try not to re-live it in my mind unsuccessfully but the images don't leave. I don't think I want to try to put into words. It was tough. It happened. The process was quick and whatever it did to her brain, her body quickly followed from back to front. China was not the kind of dog you could pick up easily. Besides her 63lbs Pit/Rhodesian/Boxer build, she'd struggle to free her self with every attempt to be picked up. This time I scooped her up and lifted her without fight. She had nothing left in her. The walk to the car with her limp body in my arms was the most gut wrenching type of pain I've ever experienced. Only to immediately repeat it one last time walking into the veterinary hospital. The drive was quiet and surreal with constant checks to see if she was still breathing. Within minutes of our arrival we were told the brutally honest diagnosis that she was not gonna come out of this. And so it was time to say goodbye. Right there and then as a family and as individuals. We held her. Theo pressed his face to hers. Eyes to eyes, right there two inches apart. And as the injection was taking place, he was telling her that she was the first to see him take his first breath and he was there to see her last. And that was intense. She gave one last cry, her heart stopped and it was over in the physical sense. And the emotional senses completely took over. We took our time alone with her as a family and then on my own. And then we drove back home, quietly and again, surreal. Her pillow empty in the rear view mirror.

Do I know that we provided her a great life and lots of love? Yes. Do I know that there were moments of comfort and laziness in making the efforts to make her world always great? Yes. That's life and that's family and we're human. Sometimes we hurt those we love the most. Because we can. Do I know that she knew we were all there till the very last moment? No. I really hope so. I'd like to think somewhere past that thing that so brutally took over her mind and body and took her someplace else, that she recognized our touch, voices and tears. But i'm also realistic enough to not know. Because everything I knew about this being was gone in those last moments. So I'll never really know. As I never really knew what was going on in that head of hers, really. As much as I'd like to think I did, she was much more complicated than that. And that was the beauty of our relationship. And the beauty of family. And why it hurts so. You take these little creatures in and they become family and you get comfortable with each others quirks and needs and good traits and bad traits and you love as they love, regardless. And then, one day it's all gone. And for those of us that remain behind, all that's left are memories. Memories that need to be dealt with while reality tick tocks on. And Roody remains in this family and has his own Acts to follow. And that's where we're at. One day at a time. Missing China.






Saturday, October 12, 2013

Theo Progress Report - Israel 2013

How fitting that one of the last Progress Reports be from our yearly family trip to the Homeland - Israel. This year we made a point of going a step beyond the family visit and showed Theo a little more of the country and it's history, thereby helping to establish his roots to those of his people for the rest of life. This trip he will never forget. For that, we are proud. And in case he does (or any other little vignette of his almost 10 years), he'll always have the visual memories here - for that I am proud.


Friday, August 23, 2013

Theo Progress Report 08/24/13 - Camping at Huntington Lake in the Sierras

It's been a long time. Theo is growing bigger and delving deeper into our world in larger, more invisible ways than my Polaroid fascination can capture. The updates are farther in between as the pickiness of choosing the right moment to invest in a Theo-roid constantly fights with the dwindling supply and instability of the expired medium. The original goal was five years. The wish is a lifetime. The reality is the fast approaching ten year anniversary to our beloved son. So this isn't the last one. There will be a couple more. But the day is coming...


Friday, October 26, 2012

Black Belt


Funny that Little Man has given me a writing assignment coinciding with a long dry spell of writing inspiration. Nothing like an almost 9 year old about to become a black belt, kicking my ass into writing shape (he'll get a kick out seeing the word "ass" here). Perhaps good enough for a blog post. He'll be the judge and you'll know if you are reading.

The back-story - Little Man, as most of you who know him or of him, has been doing Tae Kwon Do since he was 5. More than just going you can say, he's made the place our second home, going an average of 4 times a week diligently and of his own free will. He's always shown good focus and a need to perfect form and it shows as he's progressed seamlessly up the belt ladder in minimum time. Thirteen belts hang on his wall with one remaining as the ultimate goal within reach in just hours from now. One of the obstacles, besides the obvious upcoming physical test was having had to write an essay about what TKD means to him. Not a simple task for a 3rd grader (and maybe he'll let me post his own words here too). Anyway, maybe influenced by this or maybe as punishment for this, but our Little Man wishes no gift for his big achievement, but rather that each one of us (Orit and I) write an essay of our own. A letter, to him, about how proud we are of him and what it means to us. Payback by our altruistic little smart-ass (another "ass" to make him smile) kid, that is willing to give up gifts for a boost to the ego and a pad on the back. We all recognize that as long-term thinking. The stuff of a leader. And bless him for it, he shall be. For that I take my hat off, give myself a slight pad on the back and proclaim out loud my absolute pride in his whole essence and being. This one achievement of reaching a goal set out at the age of 5 when he discovered his focus to become a black belt is but a small part of him at the now seasoned age of 8.6. There is so much more to this Little Man. But that's the homework he's assigned me so that's the subject of my words...

And here I must stop as per his request. I read it to him just before bed tonight. It took him but a second to decide that the introduction to this point is for all your eyes. The letter I subsequently wrote him as my "homework" from that point, he chose to keep private for himself. Then he walked up and gave me the kind of hug the moment required. What else can I say, that kid is smarter than I'll ever be.

In the morning it's black belt time.

Friday, June 15, 2012

POLAROID - guest blog piece for Jeremy Cowart Blog


In being asked to write a guest blog piece, I'm stepping into new territory. I write as meditation. I'm a photographer and artist by trade. Writing is a mental challenge that stimulates, yet relaxes me. I write in solitude. Introspective and personal. Some rants end up on this here blog of photos and words. Visual and written stories uploaded with a click of the mouse. It's out there, intended for some, yet exposed beyond to all. It always amazes me who it reaches. So this is new to me. An assignment, of sorts, to inspire other “creatives” such as ourselves. I find the best way to do that is to keep it personal. Either shoot or write about what's around you. Tell it in story and put it out there. It will touch someone.

Thank you Jeremy for being interested and providing a platform.