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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
