Caring For Our Loved Ones, Even Across The Globe

NPR | By Sandip Roy

Published March 14, 2011 at 12:01 AM EDT

Sandip Roy is the host of New America Now on KALW in San Francisco and an editor with New America Media. He recently moved to India to be closer to his mother.

I still wake up jet-lagged in the middle of the night.

There's a koel bird in a tree nearby. I've never seen it, but maybe it's jet-lagged, too, because it coos incessantly from about 3 in the morning. Then the crows start to chorus. Packs of dogs yap and howl.

And I lie in bed worrying about my dog. Panic, my 14-year-old Chihuahua — nearly blind, going a little deaf and half a world away in San Francisco.

When I landed in Calcutta, almost the first thing my mother said was, "What did Panic do when you left?"

My mother has more in common with Panic than she would care to admit. Both are having troubles with stairs. Both had surgery for cataracts around the same time — though Panic's cost more for one eye than my mother paid for both. And both are deliriously, irrationally happy whenever they see me.

That's my Sophie's Choice — an aging mother in Calcutta and an elderly dog in San Francisco.

When Panic showed up in my life, I was wary. I didn't want responsibility for 6 1/2 pounds of nervous anxiety. But soon she had wormed her way into my life, sleeping in the crook of my arm, her wet nose resting on my shoulder.

"You should have just brought her with you," says my aunt.

I did think about it. I called the pet relocators. They offered door-to-door service, a layover in Frankfurt at a very nice pet hotel, and a customs certificate in India.

"How much would it be?" I asked, adding hopefully, "Do you charge by the pound?"

Well, about $4,000. Of course, they don't guarantee she'll make it. And I wondered: If she survived the trip, would she survive Calcutta? The mosquitoes are almost as big as she is. And would they let her back into the U.S. when I return a year later?

So ... the dog stayed. My ex agreed to take her in.

And here in India, I lie awake on jet-lagged nights, realizing I have roots in America, too, deeper and more tender than I ever thought.

"I'll see you soon," I whisper under my breath, just as I always tell my mother when I leave.

But the only sound I hear back is the koel bird, cooing in the breaking dawn.