A hard Winter

Finally starting to come back on grid after Duncan's passing. Friday (and Thursday night, of course) I spent crying most of the time. It just wouldn't stop for long. That's my M.O. though -- hold back and keep a stiff upper lip until, at some point, something opens up the floodgates. The transition I am needing to make here is that the 11 years of memories of this little person (and it IS a person to me) need to begin to overpower the memory of the last half-hour spent with him.

I know that everything dies, everyone dies, but I am not so good at being physically close to the end process. I do not want to retain the memory of watching that part, even though I know it is natural and necessary. For the past 5 months, our little guy has been terminally ill, this we knew. We were occasionally given some false hope of his condition improving or stabilizing a bit through medications... barely a glimmer of hope... but basically for the last 5 months -- every morning, noon and night, I'd wonder if there would be one more day for him.

To add to this, another of our cats was seriously ill during this period, near death twice in fact, but I'm happy to report that he has seen some improvement and we are very happy with his progress (He can't be cured but right now he's not dying and his condition is being somewhat managed). However, it was just another thing in the pile-on of stressors: thousands of dollars to pay in real estate taxes, thousands of dollars in cat medical bills, thousands of dollars to Uncle Sam, MY medical bills, thousands for home repair, and half my customers not being able to pay me (or just forgetting!!), and generally being spread waaaay too thin trying to keep up with work responsibilities, working 7 days a week every week, medication schedules, and constant worry. One of my "people" doctors, when I told her about my stress and anxiety and how I had this really sick cat and not getting much sleep, etc., here's what she said: "Just stick him out in the garage or outside. It's only a cat." It's only a cat. Yeah. I guess having a stone for a heart would probably solve all my problems. Stop worrying = stop caring. It would probably work.

I suppose that I really do have one less worry... well, two, if you count his medical bills... but I still don't feel relieved or comforted. I don't believe that loved ones go to "heaven" to look down on us or wait for us. They are just simply gone. Gone except for the memories we have. That's how they live on. That's the "spirit" of the dead... it's what's conjured up in our minds and hearts when we think of the person, see their photo, look at their art or writings, or just read what someone has written about them in a blog post. I'm hoping that soon I can push that half-hour out of the way and look back on the rest of the 11 years that we had. That's when the healing will start. Love hurts. Always has and always will.