Not Out of the Picture

Dear friends of Togo,

Since Togo’s passing on February 1, I’ve tried to avoid extending his presence beyond these posts / emails coming out of Substack.com. Although we miss him and grieve his loss, there is also a partial healing in finding our way on our own.

My only social media accounts are on Facebook and LinkedIn. Togo was a longtime personality on Facebook and made a number of friends for me through the years. Those folks plus a good number of old and new friends are the reason I continue to post from time to time and browse daily to see news of kids and grandkids, anniversaries and birthdays.

If you’re familiar with the Facebook format, you know that your personal home page features a profile picture and then a larger cover photo. In recent years, my profile figure has been a simple headshot of me. The cover photo, for many years has always been of Togo.

A bug’s eye view.

After Togo’s death, I’ve tried to shift the focus to various generic pictures I have taken. Blue skies, sunsets, sunrises, flowers and blossoms, and other nature scenes. In changing that cover shot this week, I browsed through the pictures on my phone and chose a simple shot of grass and weeds bedecked with frost.

After uploading it on Facebook, I took time to position it and, thus, crop the image to fit the banner-like format leaving this final result:

It didn’t cause quite the stir that the previous cover shot had. But then, you can’t really outshine a closeup of a little tiny moth with an Oscar, the Grouch mouth and great big googly eyes.

When someone clicks on a Facebook cover picture, a new page appears showing an uncropped version of the photo. Last night, I inadvertently clicked on my cover picture, and the entire photo appeared.

It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I had carelessly blocked the lens with a portion of my sleeve. And then noticed that in the very top left-hand corner, Togo’s paw was in the frame. On that frosty Halloween day last year (Nancy’s birthday), he was patiently standing by and waiting for me.

He’s not out of the picture yet. Nor will he ever be. I just know that he’s waiting for me now.

There will be new pictures that he hasn’t photobombed, of course. Although I’m not certain that he won’t be trying, even from his spot in the meadow this side of his personal rainbow bridge.

For days after his passing, our security cameras and backyard floodlights were tripped a number of times by an unseen visitor. Probably a cat who snuck deftly into the shadows. Right? But . . .

And then there’s this night vision video taken shortly after midnight of the day he left us. It’s only five seconds long. At about 4 seconds, look real close, just to the left of the center of the frame. A small flash of light that then speeds to the left. Almost like fairy dust. Probably an insect streaking across the yard. Right? But . . .

Naw. I’m sure it was an insect. Even though it was traveling at roughly the speed of a Togo zoomie along his beaten path.

I’m just being silly. But in my mind, Togo will always be there.

We are the sum total of all the people and animals we have loved. Every picture of blue skies and big-eyed moths and whatever other light fell to the lens of our minds’ eyes. Every taste and smell, giggle and tear.

All of it. Never out of the picture.