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Perhaps that was because we often both went over to the George pub to see my brother Steve and Maggie at weekends and talking about Caesar was a bit too ‘close to home’ for her? Jenny would look blank and play down any prompts I made to her about anything to do with Caesar or talk about any events of that night when she had stayed at the George on her own and fooled about with their dog. I realised she had been quite drunk when she had admitted the events of that weekend to me, (as I have described in chapter seven) and probably didn’t even remember half of what she’d actually told me about it that night as she’d been very drunk. Whatever, Jenny didn’t really seem to want to include Caesar in our pillow talk or mention that weekend at the George at all. I was getting the distinct feeling that she was now feeling some ‘guilt’ that it was in fact her who had first set a ball rolling with this dog thing. It had been well before our Scottish holiday that she had stayed with Maggie that. As with everyone, I had felt fear in the past. But this new fear, brought on by actual loss, actual pain… this was fear on steroids. I let it consume me for a time. I almost let it take me. My fear of death palled in comparison to the looming shadow of my fear of living. Aoife saved me that night on my knees, next to the bed Sasha and I had shared. She pressed an unseen pause button, which allowed me the opportunity to get a glimpse of my fear from a different perspective. It allowed me the opportunity to face, understand and finally make peace with my pain, instead of blindly running from it in fear. I thought I understood fear and pain. How one fed off the other. The dynamic between the two. That summer was the hardest of my life, up until that point. Little did I know that it was merely the tip of the proverbial iceberg. What follows is my true education in pain and fear. The lessons learned from them, and the opportunities lost because of them. My desire is that by continuing.
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