Mess by Molly

I close my eyes in Pacific Beach, a scenic hamlet of San Diego, California, notorious for its laid-back surfer vibe and alcohol-fueled college bar scene. It’s my first night back in the United States in three years.  At 45, I’ve temporarily moved into my mom’s upstairs studio apartment alongside her toilet paper and all the ‘useful’ stuff she buys online.   Crammed in my three musty-smelling 50-pound duffel bags are all my life’s necessities.    

I spent the last five months of this pandemic sleeping in a separate bedroom of my now ex-boyfriend’s and my corner Miraflores Lima Peru apartment, waiting for the international borders to open and return home.   The strife between us after more than a year in confinement contradicted the sublime technological quiet of the pandemic and the harmonious grassy flowered park cliffs outside our window which teamed with Monarch butterflies and chirruping birds overlooking the expansive ocean.   

It’s Memorial Day weekend, the unofficial start of summer, and the sun is out along with the beachgoers and their wide smiles.    The California mask mandate for vaccinated people was eliminated just before the holiday weekend and in this liberal enclave many people willingly stuck out their arms.  In Peru, the country with the highest mortality rate of any nation so far in the pandemic, we were hungry for any vaccine, even the Russian one.  At one point semiautomatic-carrying camouflaged-clad Peruvian military officials ensured that only one member of any family entered a grocery store (by foot of course, no cars allowed) wearing both a cloth mask and a clear plastic visor.  At the beach in San Diego, people are hungry for the salivating smell of burgers on the grill which abounds along with the aroma of skunky sweet marijuana and hoards of partying crowds.    

Re-adjusting to life in U.S. will take time especially after an 18-month strict lockdown, but three immediate priorities flare my ever-present anxiety, obtaining the COVID-19 vaccine (surely they will run out of it by the time I arrive at the pharmacy),  health insurance (what if something catastrophic happens to me between now and when I get it) and a job (California is expensive, public transport sucks and I CANNOT live with my mom in a studio apartment).    

Since Peru’s borders opened from the devastating pandemic, my mom advocated for me to leave my now-ex.  She made the pilgrimage in person to bolster my newfound sobriety, to grieve the death of my 13-year-old Tibetan Terrier, Karma, and lug back one of my suitcases.   My dog’s lost battle with cancer finally gave me the strength to start anew.    

In the middle of the lockdown, Karma began waking up each morning wet in her midsection area, but it wasn’t urine.  Veterinarian offices were shuttered due to the quarantine and unable to run tests.  When they finally reopened months later, her blood work revealed advanced spleen cancer and a few weeks to live.   

Karma came into my life during another rocky life transition period.  At 33, I was living in Hong Kong and contemplating moving back to San Diego.   Traveling weekly for a high stress job to Jakarta, Bangkok, Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, and Taipei, I had no social life whatsoever.  To ease my stress, each night I binged and purged off the room service menu and dosed myself with copious amounts of sauvignon blanc to sleep.

Recognizing I was isolating, I begged my mom to stay with me in Hong Kong.  She visited often, sometimes for a month at a time, and it slightly eased the aching, but I was sick and incapable of facing it.   When the 2008 economic crash hit and stories of suicide jumpers streamed across the TV ticker as I thumped on the treadmill each morning to erase my shame, I knew I had to escape, go home, and try something different.   I made plans to re-enter the U.S. in April 2009.

I thought adopting a dog would rescue me.  One of my mom’s eight sisters, Teri had a shih tzu, Ruffy, that I loved, so that breed was my plan for apartment dwelling.  But another of her sisters, Polly, fell in love with a striking breed called the Tibetan Terrier, an ancient Chinese dog, related to the shih tzu and Lhasa Apso, but bigger.  They’re famous for having originally lived alongside monks in Tibet guiding them safely across the Himalayas. Due to their human-like behavior, they were considered reincarnated naughty monks.  Revered, they were never sold, only gifted as signs of good luck.  They first came west when two dogs were gifted to an English doctor who saved a monk’s life.    

When Polly brought home her Tibetan Terrier, Harley, my mom instantly fell in love and began emailing photos to Hong Kong of the puppy with insights about the breed.  However, I never saw any of these emails because a psychiatrist I once frequented recommended I establish boundaries with my mom.  She suggested I set up an email filter so that my mother’s emails would be deposited in a special folder. In order not to overstimulate my nervous system, I should only check those emails occasionally.      

The rapid-fire emails, sent staccato-like in a 48-hour period, from my mom, went something like this  

Polly’s new dog, Harley, is so adorable.

Here are pictures of Polly’s new dog.  I know you would love this breed; they are hypoallergenic.

I think this is the dog breed you have been looking for, I’m going to email the breeder to see if there are any dogs left.

I heard back. There is one dog left and she’s a girl, it’s fate.

Molly, if you get this dog, you can name her Karma, and be her dogma. HAHAHA

Molly, I haven’t heard from you.  I’m worried this dog is going to get snatched up.  I know you want to adopt a dog, but I am sure this is the dog for you.  I have your PayPal account details so I can just pay from there.

Molly, if I don’t hear back from you in 12 hours, I’m buying this dog with your money.  I’m telling you it’s Karma.

Molly, you have a new dog, Karma!   Don’t worry, I’m going to use my miles to go pick her up in Buffalo, NY and I will train her for the first 8 weeks until you get home so I will do all the hard work.

I was LIVID with my mom.  She spent $1500 of my money on a dog and then made herself out to be virtuous because she would puppy train it. Well, actually, I couldn’t fully fault my mom’s thinking – just her impulsivity.   While living in Hong Kong, my mom and I received permission from the Chinese government to visit Tibet and hiked prayer-flagged Buddhist monasteries in the chilly Himalayas so we both knew full well that there was something to be said about being the dogma of a legendary reincarnated naughty monk named Karma.

Karma turned out to be a winner.  She had long black and white hair, a sturdy little body with wide paws ideal for climbing and symmetrical markings.  As a puppy she escaped on occasion but was social, a docile playground for children and a clown for elderly folks.  She befriended a group of 80-year-old women on the boardwalk and often jumped onto and hitched a ride on one of their luxurious red scooters rather than walk with me, causing the ladies to howl with laughter. 

One reason I was initially attracted to my ex was because of his adoration for Karma.  He treated her like his spoiled princess daughter.   When I left my job in 2018 and moved with him to Peru, there was no question, that Karma would join us.  Prior to the pandemic, we spent two years traveling through the country including a 9-week sojourn in the Sacred Valley near Cusco.  At an altitude like Tibet, Karma was in her natural element. Constantly dirty, she thrived in the crisp air and snowcapped mountains prancing up the trails leading us to one spectacular view after another, always turning back to make sure we followed her.

 When the pandemic hit, it brought my issues with alcohol to a head.  They couldn’t be ignored any longer. I became sober right around the time Karma fell ill. It was almost as if Karma took on my sickness to save me. In caring for her, I watched my own strength grow. 

As anyone who has lost a pet knows, the last few days are agonizingly painful.  To see your beloved companion unable to walk, do their business or eat rips a raw hole through your heart center which seems to grow double in size knowing it’s time to bid farewell.    Atypical of her normal demeanor, she limply snuggled me goodbye in my arms for hours the night before we brought her in, advising me it was her time.  

Our eye contact did not break during the last seconds of her life as the long needle pierced her fragile skinny white leg and injected medicine that slowly eased her misery.  Through her soulful brown eyes, gently and with compassion I was unable to give myself, she conveyed to me I could survive without her; that she waited to leave me until she knew I was ready.   I forever get choked up because Venezuelan migrants ran the vet center and despite the desperation of their economic situation in comparison with mine, they refused to charge me to put Karma to sleep.  They cried along side me holding my hand, breaking the quarantine rule that owners were not to be in the room with the patients.

After her soul transmigrated, I felt a deep chunk of myself gone, but also a part of me free to leave.   This chapter of my life had ended; it was time for me to move on; not to escape this time but to restart.

On my second day in San Diego, I receive my first dose of the vaccine.  After months of seeing people in the US get it on TV and dreaming about it from Peru, I cant believe how easy it is.  I check in online via text in the parking lot of the pharmacy and cruise right up to the counter where no one thankfully asks to verify my health insurance information.  The relief I feel at starting to become immunized is infinite. 

When I check my email later, I see an unread message from Monique, my first professional female mentor, whom I met when at age 25 at a United Nations technology meeting in Geneva.  In addition to being an accomplished businesswoman, she is also passionate about dogs and often fosters up to five.  It is surprising to hear from her as our communication has dwindled to yearly Christmas cards.  Her email reads: 

Hey, Molly – how are you doing?  We had a Memorial Day cookout yesterday with Tom and his family, and I asked him about you.  He said that you have been living in Peru but that you are thinking about returning to the U.S.  Tom also told me that you lost Karma – I am so sorry as I know how hard it is to lose a beloved companion like that. 

I would love to catch up some time with you if you have a chance. 

Take care– Monique

We arrange a time to catch up the next day.    It seems like no time has passed; she fills me in on her life and I do the same.   At the end of the conversation, she inquires if I would be interested in coming to work for her at a satellite startup and explains the position focuses on Latin America and requires Spanish speaking skills.  It has health insurance.  It’s well paid and urgent . Can I start next week?    

Tears of gratitude well up in my eyes; in my body I can feel the intensity of the connection of Karma’s beautiful brown eyes once again meeting mine.  My perpetually anxious stomach does flip flops of humility and hope.  It’s a miracle.  It’s KARMA!