A Gift of Violet

Violet was born almost a week and two days ago. Thirty hours of intense contractions...an epidural for about half that time. I endured hours and hours of pain I never knew before, only to result in a cesarean leaving me with lingering pain from that as well. For my first several hours of recovery, I couldn't even hold my baby girl but I was able to have her rested beside me. As I first came to after the operation, I heard a baby crying, I heard word of a little girl (we had kept her sex a surprise) and I heard my husband's voice as he cooed over our inconsolable little one. I heard that I had a daughter and I immediately began to cry. The love I carried inside for thirty-nine and a half weeks was now on the outside, screaming to the world that she was here and I was in tears from the pain and the confusion but mostly, my sobs were brought by joy mixed with disbelief. My baby was here. Violet Phoenix was here.

She came home with us on October 31^st, our six-year anniversary. This past week has been physically and emotionally taxing. Even with my wonderful husband helping me around the clock, recovering from a major abdominal surgery while caring for a newborn is no simple task. However, I am in constant awe at the amount of love I feel for this tiny person and I often fear that this is all a dream. If it is, I hope to never wake from it. She is everything to me. I look at her beautiful little face, I run my hand gently across her silken hair and I often weep as this incredible love bursts from the fragile shell of my being.

Knowing that she almost never was, mystifies and frightens me. We weren't going to have a child. We didn't think we should. We're broke and struggling. We have health issues. We had a million excuses as to why we shouldn't, even though being a mother was what I wanted more than anything in the world. There were countless times when I would find myself sneaking out to the kitchen in the middle of the night to secretly cry tears of longing and regret, thinking the greatest gift in all the universe would never be mine.

Last night, as she slept, I gently caressed my beautiful baby's face, listening to one of the CDs I made for our stay in the hospital and one of the song's from George's iPod came on. I looked down at my lovely daughter and was filled with a combination of heart-wrenching loss and soul-igniting gain all in the same inward breath. The cycle of life, love, pain and death all moved with a bitter-sweet grace all about me and I sat at the center of its light. It was George's death that made us realize the frailty of it all and how nothing is guaranteed. It was George's death that gave us the courage to take hold of what we want. Fear should never keep us from life's gifts and losing my baby brother made it so crisp and so clear. Were it not for my greatest loss, I would not be experiencing my greatest joy. Humbled, dizzied and weak, I marvel through my tears at this incredible cycle of events and I hope that from wherever he is, George can look down at his tiny niece and be proud knowing that he helped bring her to us. Violet will surely grow up with stories about Uncle George and how large and full of love he was.

Thank you, baby brother. Thank you for this gift. I miss you more than I could ever fully express but I am eternally grateful for what you have given me. I will cherish this always, I promise.  

What breaking free feels like...

I think most of us have worked in places that were less than ideal. Some of these jobs may have even been downright miserable. I spent five years in such an environment. I won't name the employer or the manager who made my life hell because I don't want to be that petty and I know that any future employer could potentially see this post. Maybe I shouldn't be posting at all but I really feel strongly that it is worth talking about. 

I don't need to go into huge detail. It was a call center. Call center work can be grueling in and of itself due to the fact that people are much more likely to be abusive to you over the phone than in person. It really can take some getting used to. There were good days and bad days as far as the calls were concerned. Some days, I dealt with people who made me smile. Some days it felt like everyone who called was a mean-spirited asshole. My favorite calls were the ones that started out with someone screaming or threatening and ended with things like, "Thank god! You are the first person who has ever helped me! I'm sorry if I was angry. Thank you so much!". I really felt like I accomplished something on those calls and they actually made me feel good about my job.

So yes, call center work has its ups and downs and it can be mentally and emotionally draining. That is something I can deal with. When you add to it a ruthless, vindictive manager who thrives on controlling people with fear, what could be a tolerable and even enjoyable work environment becomes a living nightmare. My bully boss was a woman and I wasn't the only one who had trouble with her. She made life miserable for most people and as is often the case, the company didn't care to do anything about it, despite numerous and valid complaints. She was a textbook case of the queen bee boss. I know this, because she was just awful enough to spark my feverish studies of relational aggression and abusive bosses. What I learned was that you really can't defeat them. All you can do is get away from them. 

So why did I stay so long? I mean, I was truly miserable. We're talking, sitting on the sofa, sobbing myself stupid before work, miserable. I had multiple reasons. I needed the insurance, the job market was (and still is) absolutely awful...mostly, I was afraid. Being the sole income provider and barely surviving made jumping into something else highly risky. I felt stuck, as did a lot of my colleagues, and she used that fear and feeling of helplessness against us with a merciless fury. Just about everyone went through periods of being picked on before she moved onto someone else. She was clearly a miserable person and had the constant expression that lead me to wonder if someone farted and only she could smell it. I wanted to get away from her so badly but I just couldn't figure out how. I was sick of her demoralizing lectures and inappropriate comments behind closed doors. I was tired of wondering what sort of abuse I would endure during my next employee evaluation or what kind of inappropriate judgments and threats she would make whenever I got sick and couldn't come to work. 

I won't go into detail about the events that lead to my freedom as there is nearly a novel's worth. I will say that after the death of my brother and the near-fatal wounding of my ex-boyfriend only a month and a half later, I learned a lot about how fragile any circumstance can be and that there are no guarantees. I had already been a part-time college student for about a year, supplementing my income with grants and loans. After an inexcusable act of emotional abuse by this horrible woman, it dawned on me that it was time to make my escape, no matter how frightening or risky. I bumped my student status to full-time, increasing my school income to almost what my job brought in and I submitted a week's notice. Telling her to her face that I was leaving was one of the most thrilling and empowering moments of my life. She couldn't control me any more. 

I walked out of that pit of despair for the last time exactly one year ago and I am still positive that it was one of the best things I've ever done for myself. I realized that even though it can take a while to find the exit, we are not always as stuck as we think we are. I wish more of my former co-workers would come to this conclusion and free themselves. This past year has been full of uncertainty, tremendous financial struggle...and extreme gratitude. I still have nightmares about her on occasion, which I've read is fairly normal. They won't last forever. Besides, I've already had a confidence boost from the work study job I had for a few months afterward. It was quite a change going from one female boss who belittled and abused me to one who actually said I was an asset to the company! It was sad when work study funds were cut. I found a lot of healing in that place and much of my dignity was returned to me. 

So, today as I muddle through maddening algebra assignments, I am also pausing to be grateful for the leap I was finally strong enough to make. Now, for the first time in my life, I see a future unfolding before me. It isn't with out its struggle and uncertainty but I am much stronger and I have vowed to myself that I will never allow myself to live through that kind of abuse again. I will never allow myself to be controlled by fear.

Some time before I made my escape, a friend of mine had freed herself from a bad situation. This is what she said it felt like. Now I know that feeling, too. Very powerful!

To George or Violet:

My dreams are cluttered as usual but for a time in that realm, you had already arrived and I held you. Sometimes you're a boy, other times, a girl...the dreams don't always say because that part doesn't matter to me. You were a boy this time, so I knew your name. You were so tiny and warm. I had to make sure to support your head as I lifted you and brought your warmth to rest on me. You are my most sacred gift and when you arrive, I will cry, I will hold you, I will sing songs to you. There will be stories and games and naps and fussing. There will be adventures and things to learn and see. I've got a whole world to show you. But mostly, I just want to hold onto you knowing that you are the most beautiful and wondrous thing in the universe. I can't wait to meet you on the outside.


Love, 
Mommy

Purging the Poison

Eliminating a poisonous situation from your life sometimes involves consequences. Today, I feel like I cut a piece of my heart out. However, had I not, the poison may well have corroded the rest of my life and I could already feel it turning me sour. Self-preservation it seems, can come with sacrifice. As I spent the majority of my afternoon and evening blinded by angry, bitter and mournful tears, I pondered the validity of my actions. Am I just needlessly alienating people and making enemies where I don't need to? Is this justified? After much deliberation, I decided that by removing this poison and eliminating these people, one of whom I love beyond all definition was all I could do for the time-being. The situation had just become too painful and this person whom I love comes with a stack of woes that I am presently ill-equipped to handle. He didn't get it and I don't expect him to. As his somewhat understandable seething toward my actions cauterizes this amputation, my need to protect myself and my little family are the only bandage I have. It weeps as I do but for now, it's what I've got. I wished him well and expressed my love then hung up the phone in a crumpled mess of sobs and rage. It shouldn't be like this. It really didn't have to go this way...but it did. Now it's time to pick up the pieces, embrace what I am protecting and hope that eventually there will be a cure for this. There has to be. I just have no way of finding it at this time.

It is not the first time I've had to eliminate a person from my life and I'm sure it won't be the last. I spent years as a doormat, taking on the problems of others to be bludgeoned by drama-filled consequences in the end. It took a long time to wise up and learn to protect myself. Even if cutting someone off completely seems drastic (and sometimes it is), self-preservation has become that important. I've learned the hard way how far and deep betrayal can go. I've suffered great emotional and even a little physical damage in the past by not seeing a situation for what it was until it was too late. In recent years, I've gotten quite good at “cleaning house” without batting an eye and seldom feel sorry for doing so. I will not allow continuous pain brought by repeated toxic interactions with the same person or persons to cloud my already complicated life. Today I did feel sorry, though. What's keeping me sane through it is knowing that although it hurts, for the time being, I have brought myself and my little family some peace and quiet.

I'm willing to accept the idea that in the end, I was in the wrong...if there even is a wrong in this situation. Let me rephrase that: I am willing to accept the idea that my actions were not the most wise or beneficial. However, at this moment, while I suffer the loss, I can at least be sure that I acted in the best way I knew how for the moment and it was not just about protecting myself. Becoming a mother is changing me and my defensive claws are much less likely to stay hidden. I just hope that as I gain in ferocity and protectiveness, I also gain wisdom...even if it comes with pain. 

A walk back to myself.

For a short, blessed time this afternoon, the chaos broke and I stepped out of the apartment and into nature...into myself. With the sun overhead and the wind as my guide, I ventured down the same path I've traveled many times over. My bike is still broken, so today I used my feet. Walking was better today, anyway. As the playful and loving cool lifted my hair and my heart, guarding me from the heat of summer, my feet took me back...back to where I used to go to feel the pulse of everything; my “moments with Akasha” as I call them. As usual on these journeys, I was accompanied by music. George's iPod is still in need of repair, but I had my phone loaded with songs (some of them his favorites), ready to travel with me, ensuring passage from the mundane and into my own place of magic.

It had been too long. I feared that I was losing myself to hardening brought by the explosion of turmoil that has had me spinning and floundering through the duration of this pregnancy. I feared that I was losing this part of me. It seems that this isn't so...not entirely. Here in the mundane realm, the hardening is still taking place. I feel it like a stone shell coating my skin and my resolve. But even with all of this madness, all of this hardship and pain, when I step back into that place, I am fluid once again. I am particles of air and my spirit rides the summer breezes as my feet find connection with the center of all things, spiraling inward and out again...moving like deep and peaceful breaths. This time, I have someone with me. My little miracle, riding in my belly, taking a sacred walk with Mommy.

It occurred to me that I have been two people for so long, becoming one again might feel strange. Is that why women get depressed after they give birth? No matter. It will be the greatest gift in the universe to hold my baby in my arms and as my child grows, we will still take walks and bike rides together. I will show my little one where I find the magic and hopefully, I can pass that gift on.  

Tiny creatures hold so much love

Cats are amazing. At approximately 3:30am, I got up with my regularly-scheduled heartburn. Stopping to use the bathroom before heading for antacids and soy milk, I felt two tiny paws on my leg. It was Klaus Thomas the Nomi cat, our latest stray kitten. For some reason, as he sits here a ball on my lap, napping and purring, I can't help but marvel at the remarkable bond that can happen between us and these little creatures. And they are little, especially as kittens. Here I am, this massive giant...and this tiny creature puts his paws on me to say he wants my love and attention. I'd be terrified of something so large if I were so small! I certainly wouldn't be cuddling up to something so towering! It humbles and softens me like nothing else. I guess that's the thing I need to keep some of the hardening at bay as I undergo these painful transformations I've been experiencing. I cherish them so. Phoenix, who's time ended just a few weeks ago...and there's still Dia, Pharon and Bebe (my princess and guardian). Now, little Klaus Thomas has joined the fold and my heart is warmed to see and think of them. So too, is my lap warmed by his tiny, sleeping body. I'm not sure how it is that I've become such a mama cat but it's a position I will maintain proudly, even after my own little one is born. I love having animals in my life and I love all who share their lives with me. Cats, however, have a special spot. I really doubt I would fare well without them.

A cold transformation

I spent most of today in bed with severe dizzy spells. Apparently that can happen when you're pregnant. When I spoke to my OB's office a while back about it, I was told it had to do with all the extra blood in my body due to me and Baby. So apparently, it's nothing serious. Today was the first time I had a problem with it all day, though. Very frustrating. The apartment is a mess and Husband has been out and all I can do is lay in bed. As if I didn't already have enough to be frustrated about.

It seems as of late, that no matter what I set out to do or feel, something squashes it. It can be a random and weird circumstance, the words or actions of another or how I'm physically feeling. It's as if nothing is going the way it should and it's confusing me. I've been finding myself feeling something between rage, despair and just plain bewilderment.

Am I doing something wrong?

I'm trying, really trying to enjoy this pregnancy and get my school obligations out of the way without letting the weight of everything else crush me. What should be the happiest time of my life has instead, turned out to be the most distressful. How does that work?

Don't get me wrong...I have moments that are good. Right now the latest stray kitten Husband found is perched between myself and the keyboard, warming my spirit as best he can. For little things like this, I am grateful. They may be all that's keeping me sane. The rest of the time, when I smile and come off like things are going well, I feel so false. It's like I've put on this pathetic plastic shell and I'm hoping no one can see the places where it's cracking. Right now, at this moment, things do not feel okay. I don't feel okay. Does that make me ungrateful or just human?

I'm trying to make sense of this. I'm trying to learn and grow, taking the changes as they come. However, some of the changes I'm seeing frighten me. I'm learning that I am very resilient, which is something I never would have seen without having it pointed out to me. That part, I feel good about. What bothers me, is watching and feeling myself harden. It's one thing to be strong. It's another to be hard. My skepticism and general mistrust of others seems to be growing. More and more, I dread relying on anyone else for anything as I feel like I'm constantly being let down. As much as I sometimes want to fault the unreliable parties for this, I also fault myself for needing them in the first place. With each letdown, I harden a little more. Then I get angry with myself for not being able to do it on my own. I get angry with myself for being so incapable. Whether the people I surround myself with are unreliable or not, shouldn't even be an issue.

As much as it frightens me, sometimes I wonder if I should embrace this hardening, take comfort in its coldness. Maybe the “free spirit” I once was just doesn't have the survivability to be of any use. I miss her sometimes, that free-spirited me who soared on thoughts, music and whatever beauty captured my eye. There were so many sacred moments, so many things to write and dream about. That me was passionate, poetic and artistic. That me it seems, is either dying or falling into a deep sleep. That me just doesn't seem to fit here anymore and it aches to think about. More and more, my survivability seems to depend on practicality, skepticism and icy resolve.

Transformation is often painful and sometimes it should be so. When the pain gets to be overwhelming, I still have that temporary escape inside my head, but it is brief. Every time I emerge from that mental chrysalis, I see the changes and I wonder what I am to become. Whatever it is, I hope it has a purpose. I hope that I don't lose myself completely. I guess that's what insomnia and purring kittens are for. They soften the edges just enough to keep me in check.

Between night and morning

Just after 5am: Up with my usual pregnant heartburn, waiting for the antacids to kick in. The sky is that perfect shade of pre-dawn gray, growing subtly lighter with each passing moment. Something about that particular gray awakens a longing in me that I can't explain, even to myself. Naturally, I do some facebooking to pass the time, as the sky's waning dark gives way to morning and the scent of its cooling finds its way to my senses.

My tiny water glass is now empty, and my head is full. What is it about the between hours that stir these things in me? Perhaps because the between-time has always felt like home and it calls to places in me that ache with a sweet desire to become something more than I am and to venture out into wonder and mystery. It's almost as if on a sub-conscious level, I'm looking for a secret doorway that only opens when the time and scenery are right. What would happen if I found it? Would I be afraid to step through or would I rush into it, never to return to this plane?

Wait. I hear traffic and there's movement in the parking lot. Damn. I missed it, yet again...but perhaps only just barely. It's funny how we can long so feverishly for things we can't define. Is it a literal place or one that's locked away in my mind? That door I'm looking for is ancient, and wooden in a wall of stone, covered with ivy. Its lock is rusted and I don't have the key...at least, not that I know of.

As the morning light grows, so do the sounds of traffic and the train tracks, nearby. The birds outside are beginning to chatter and soon our finches will join them. Bebe, my guardian cat, is at the screen door to the patio, watching it all. The moment has passed and the day claims dominance, once again. I can't help feeling a twinge of sadness. I missed it, whatever “it” is, but this will not be the first time. It probably won't be the last, either. Now that the heartburn is settled, I suppose it is time to return to dreams of a different kind, ever the girl on the in-between.

When the unimaginable happens...

As I readied myself for bed, a conversation with my neighbor had me contemplating the changes that take place within us when the unimaginable actually happens. I told him about watching my youngest brother George die last year and how it was followed shortly by seeing a dear friend survive a severe car accident and how his horrific appearance in the hospital scarred me. I compared the two, almost surprised by the differences and similarities in their impact. My dear friend (who also happens to be my ex-boyfriend) survived and yet, seeing his condition was in some ways more traumatizing than standing over the fresh corpse of my own brother. Although he's alive and doing amazingly well, his appearance in the hospital was the worst thing I've ever seen. I'm not sure what state I'd be in if he hadn't made it. That's not to downplay the impact of losing George, of course. Here I am, at this silly hour, awake with pregnancy-induced heartburn and the knowledge that without his death, I would not likely be carrying this life within me. It doesn't keep me from missing him every day and I am haunted by his absence. I am not the same. I will never be the same.

These things that we couldn't imagine happen to us and they change us forever. Every thought, feeling, and action taken becomes something entirely different than it was before. Life-changes that were too scary to reach for become the only logical choice and the knowledge that nothing is guaranteed, how frail everything is, fully takes hold. It was only last year, all that tragedy...not long ago at all. It's amazing how quickly the universe can become a different place and how permanent the changes are. I will never be the same after what I've seen and I am becoming what I possibly never would have. Life is full of moments that alter our course, shaping us into who we are. Few of them have the impact that last year's events had and will continue to have as long as I live. The reminders are constant, although I usually let them blend into the scenery, aware that it's just how it is. It is now a permanent part of my universe. Reminders of the changes in myself and my world still come up. Only a couple of weeks ago, when I lost my most loyal companion of 19 years, old wounds were re-opened and sprinkled with new salt. Even through that pain, I marveled at it...its hugeness and also its staggering simplicity.

Do I still cry? Yes I do. These memories come to visit and things resurface as I'm sure they always will, only less frequently as time goes on. Sometimes they are barely a ripple and other times, they strike with a dizzying blow. But always, always, they are there just as I am always here to feel them. New events will arise. Some will be joyful, some earth-shattering. This will go on. I will go on...at least until the day that it comes to claim me and shatter the world for someone else. On that day, I hope my leaving also offers a gift. You can't stop it from happening, but you can take the good from it. You have to. I can't change the pain, but I can accept its gifts. I choose to accept the gifts and I will spend the rest of my days learning from them.

The importance of creation...

A plate of warm, gluten-free Betty Crocker's chocolate chip cookies won't ever solve your problems. However, when accompanied by Septicflesh or Mozart and my Lifespan Psychology book, I find life's pains to be that much more survivable. At least, that's the current requirement.

Music, food and art: lifeblood. Soul-essence. Oxygen and dreams. These days, my life offers little time for the things I love. I miss spending hours upon hours drawing by a soft light with a glass of wine and something to snack on while losing myself to whatever music I desperately needed at the moment. I'm not exactly the greatest artist in the world, but I can draw and drawing makes me happy. I just wish it wasn't the first thing to go when life gets heavy. Once again, another week has passed without keeping that promise to myself...that I would break out the art supplies and be what I once was: a girl who loved to draw and dream and float on music.

Wonderful and intimate little gatherings, they were. Conversations with my pencils as Tori Amos taught me things about being a woman that I might have missed. Lessons about life and what it is to be human, with an inspiration to write poetry: a gift from Chuck Schuldiner. Glenn Danzig and his wonderfully comforting voice. The pulse of primal majesty that pounds in us all, eloquently illustrated by the most brutal death metal...it has always made me feel peaceful and aware.

As I walk into writing, I realize that this has become my only real outlet anymore. I suppose that's okay. You've got to have something, and my kitchen is presently void of the appropriate ingredients for salmon and curry. Again, I am thankful for that plate of cookies. And as Mozart has moved over for a little Beethoven, the cookies are settling in my stomach and I'm craving metal again, the baby is kicking at my belly. Little footprints on my insides remind me of where I messed up in life and how I got stuck. As I work to claw my way out of the mess I'm in, I have made another promise. This promise, is the most sacred of all and one I cannot afford to break. I will use my pain, my joy and all my experience to forge the tools needed to give my child the most important things I missed. I can't control everything and I can't force a good life on this little person, but I sure as hell can show the way I never saw when I was growing up. Every laugh, every cry, every belching contest, sunny bike ride, humiliating experience, brief victory, pencil-line, burnt dinner, amazing desert, slap in the face, warm hug, every everything I have, am, is, was or will be only matters now as I share it with this sacred little life within me. I just hope it's enough as this will always be my finest creation, and the one that matters more than anything in the universe.

Little footprint on my soul...

The last days of Phoenix

It's amazing how quickly nineteen years can come to an end. Even when you see it coming from a distance, it is still so abrupt, so cold, so painful. It's been a week since my most loyal companion and fuzzy soul mate left my side. Nineteen years is more than half my life. Over that time, we grew up together and then started growing older, but she grew old so much faster than I ever could. She was my little anchor for so long. She was the purr and the paws that massaged the back of my neck at night. She was the conversational meow and guardian shadow walking with me from adolescence to adulthood. Then she started to fade.


Phoenix's last couple of years were mostly spent napping. There was some arthritis in her hips and she became more crotchety and demanding at mealtimes. But still...we'd talk. She was always, always my baby. Sometimes, even up to just a few months ago, her ears would go back, her eyes would pop out and some poor piece of lint or patch of carpet would receive about two minutes of the most vicious feline attack. This of course was followed by about a day or two of sleep. Once in a while, she'd even race down the hallway. My lady, my Queenie, still taking time to be a cat. 

Two years ago, Beatrice came to us. Bebe, we usually call her. She, like Phoo (that's pronounced Foo and what Phoenix is mostly called) was a scrawny flea-bitten stray kitten. She quite literally fell out of a tree and landed in my husband's arms. We had a bond right away and I knew that when the time came, she would be the one to take over guardianship. I don't know if it made it easier. I lost my youngest brother last year and that certainly didn't make it easier. The death of someone you deeply love hurts, no matter what. 


Her last two days were nothing short of agonizing...for both of us. Obviously, she had suffered a stroke or something. She stopped eating and drinking. She could only move in circles. It was unbearable to watch. We put her in a crate with a blanket by the bed, so she'd have a safe and comfortable place to make her exit. We took turns holding her and kissing her. I buried my face in her soft fur, tears moistening the back of her head. She was leaving me. She was really leaving me...after all these years. 

In those two days, I found myself in a strange spot. In a little over three months, I will give birth to my first and only child. Here I was, carrying new life within me and cradling a life leaving in my arms. I was between them both in a bizarre sort of limbo. It sent my head spinning. I felt hollow and full at the same time. 


The other cats would periodically come in to check on her as she lay in the crate. Brountom (our Basset hound) would check on her, too. Bebe and Pharon took shifts, laying on or near her resting place. The household knew. 

But she didn't die. She just kept lingering. 


It was killing all of us. I didn't want to lose her, but I knew she couldn't continue to live in that slowly starving state. I think she was so far gone, that she forgot to actually die. Early that afternoon, I called the Humane Society for help. I burst into tears, talking to a nice lady on the phone. We had no money and I was desperate. She told me it was okay and that they'd never turn away a suffering kitty and to bring her in. It was one of the most difficult and painful things I've ever had to do. Something felt so wrong, taking my baby in to die like that, but the alternative was so much worse. She had been suffering and it couldn't go on. We loaded her crate into the car. Daryll drove and I navigated through tears. I had been wanting to see the new facility, but not like this. I never imagined something like this.


It was awkward, standing at the counter. I had her in my arms sobbing, while the poor guy at the counter entered our information. He took down my name, address and phone number. He documented Phoo's name and age. He waived the $45 fee. They wouldn't allow us to go back with her, which only added to the heartbreak. Daryll and I held onto her one last time. I gave her kisses and told her goodbye. I told my baby I loved her. As the man took her, I hoped that George was back there watching over her so she wouldn't be alone. It was an indescribably awful feeling, waiting for her body to be brought back to us. When it was, she was wrapped in a towel. We took her outside and held her, both of us crying like children. I had never seen Daryll cry so hard. It was a small comfort through the pain. 

There is definitely something missing, here. We all feel it. Even the dogs and the other cats have been grieving in their own way. Bebe spent most of her time laying near the spot where Phoo's crate had been. Feeding time is different. The absence of her meow is huge and knowing that I'll never feel those paws on the back of my neck or hear that purr in my ear again has left a huge hole in me as if part of me died too. She really was a part of me...she still is. At least she's free now and she has George. I'll have to learn to live without them both. Nineteen years is a long time, but it has never felt so short.

Daryll brushed her for the last time.

My dad's favorite Wishbone Ash song, "Phoenix". I grew up hearing it and played it for her after she died.

She wasn't quite 18, yet.

Were it not for cats...

Speaking of creatures on the in-between...


Even in the midst of crisis and turmoil, I can always count on my cats and their nonsensical ways to break the monotony a bit. Beatrice, or Bebe as we call her (sometimes just Bea, or Bum or Bum-Bum...Bumbelina when I feel fancy) has been my constant shadow and guardian spirit since I've been pregnant. In fact, she was the one who tried to tell me I was with child in the first place. Finally taking "Dr. Bebe's" advice, I bought a pregnancy test and well...


This cat cannot seem to leave well enough alone. Everything I do seems to require her constant supervision. She sleeps right next to me, usually with one fuzzy paw stretched out, touching my back. She follows me around wherever I go (unless of course it's kitty nap time) and heaven forbid I should take a shower without letting her in the bathroom with me! When I brush my teeth or put on my makeup, she's there on the bathroom counter, talking to me in little chirps and purrs. When I do my homework, she likes to stretch out across my text book or sit on my notes. Really, how could I ever get by without her help?

Tonight was especially entertaining, and somewhat perilous. As I was trying to solve polynomials in my algebra book, she would walk across the pages or put her paws right where I needed to see. As I turned back to an example page, she attacked the paper, tearing it a little...unfortunately, my finger was included. 

Fortunately, I have the awesome unicorn bandages my sister got me. The box says they're made with real unicorn tears for extra healing power! I employed the neosporin, anyway. 

Much better! I managed to battle a few more polynomials before moving onto psychology. Ah, my chosen major! Psychology reading should go much more smoothly, right? Well...

I really do adore this cat and I know she's just trying to look out for me.

The cracking of dreams

It was just a quick trip to the store for some soy cheese and then to grab some nachos for dinner. The pea soup had sat out just a little too long, so it was no good. We don't have money for bills, but a few bucks for dinner on an evening when I'm overloaded with homework and too tired to cook really wasn't unreasonable. Just a quick trip. Just a simple, mundane thing that we've done countless times. Daryll was the passenger and I was the driver.

Somewhere between Fred Meyer and Muchas Gracias, It gripped me with such a sudden force, I wanted to cry. Fear, dread, melancholy...the feelings that haunt below a seemingly still surface. Rippling and whispering beneath the thin layer of ice and distraction I use to keep them at bay, they found a crack in my surface today. With a suffocating alarm, I clung to the steering wheel, realizing my own terror. Here I am...married, pregnant, attending community college and spending money I don't have on a meal I couldn't muster the energy or thought to create. Here I am, in this mess, in this pit of financial despair with an ailing husband, and an unborn child, clinging desperately to the hope that education provides, clinging desperately to a frail and invisible chance at pulling myself out...pulling us out. Even as I clutch and crawl my way up this thin and delicate lifeline, I feel it chipping at me. I feel it like a thousand beaks, pecking, tearing, taunting. The life I don't want, the life I fear mocks me with threats to swallow me whole. I feel it sucking at my heels...oily and black, cold and bleak. A life of poverty, of hardship and of shattered dreams. A life without living the passions that call to me through mournful daydreams of a better existence.

In that moment in the car tonight, and for the rest of the drive home, the urge to run screamed at me as the demon-thoughts of what I don't want pointed and laughed at my quivering psyche. They know I'm getting tired. They can see the weariness in my eyes and spirit. Struggling to keep my head, I thought of Australia, I thought of Italy, Greece...some of the places I long to run to. I thought of the lives I've danced through in my head and wondered if the grand adventure my spirit cries for will always be just a thought in my head to distract me from the harsh reality of hardship and struggle. Will I find myself wallowing in the unyielding clutches of my socio economic status as my dreams are slowly forgotten and I give in to this...this nothing that I exist in? I am learning that it is not in my nature to just lie down and let it all take me and now, more than ever, I have a real reason to keep fighting to live...to really live and to share that living with my little family. Still...I can feel it. That weakening, that cracking in my resolve and thinning of hope. I will go until I collapse and hope that I beat this thing out...this race against myself and the things that wish to devour me. I am so tired. I am so scared...and more and more, I feel desperately alone.