I don’t know. Wordpress has informed me that I am to be celebrating eight years of this blog’s existence – though only six of which have contained my daily writing, the first two had less than ten posts total. I have come up with certain wavering truths…I will always want to change, and I will change as I experience what appears to be an inability to change. Writing is a requirement for my health and sanity. I like boys best when they like me. All life is cyclical.
Another turning of another gear. We had to put our cat Peanut to sleep today. He was a silly little boy of sixteen. He had tremors and bobbled around for the past two or three years, completely unperturbed by his own dizziness, but suddenly, he had kidney issues and there was nothing that could be done for him that would have made a difference. We all feel really caught off-guard. I’d been away when my sister rushed him to the vet before this diagnosis so it seemed as though there was In the room, his eyes looked bright and normal and you wanted to say, that he needs to look sicker for this to feel like we are allowed to make this decision. He needs to look on the edge of real pain for me to be able to believe this is necessary. But, of course, you don’t want him to have to know anything at all except silly kitty thoughts. So a week of looking at him drugged-up and puking before this action was demanded, or, do it now, when his suffering has not been of great duration.
My sister – who Peanut has almost always belonged to – decided on the latter. It was incredibly hard, and yet, eerily simple in what technically had to happen. *I wanted to look up the chemical they used, but I can’t look at that right now. We just pet him and cuddled him and they injected it, whatever it was, and then, they take him away.
I am really rather exhausted by standing at the edges of life and watching those I love exit, all the while thoughts of what might yet be for me are quicksilver in my hands. I am sorry and worn out and I know that I have to keep moving.
It is okay. It is awful. It is okay. There’s a flower I hold whose petals I keep turning and plucking to end up with a final word and there’s always one more to pull. It is awful. It is okay. It is awful. It is…
So, back to reality. Job situation looks ever more dire. This dude from the internet who thinks I’m pretty may or may not think anything else. I have messes to clean up, diets to reconstruct, water to drink, stories to write and read. I take it all with me, the grief and the memories, and the to-do lists, and trundle forth.
Someday, though, someday, we’ll have ourselves a back porch and a long chair that fits both of us. You can lean back in it. We won’t have to move forward or back. We’ll just sit there and hear that one breeze that can only move on that one day and think of nothing but now cool and nice it is.