Kitty died

Jul. 22nd, 2018 09:30 pm
aroraborealis: (phoenix)
The day after my last post, Kitty developed a new unsteadiness throughout her body, which escalated noticeably in each 12 hour stretch, and she was losing interest in food at about the same rate. I arranged for the vet to come on Friday, trusting my gut that waiting until next week would be too long, took the day off, and spent one of the most perfect mornings of summer in the front yard with her.

She had been shortening our snuggle time recently, part of that drawing away I mentioned in the last post, but that morning, she let me give her a good belly rub, and she gave me lots of purrs, and it was super sweet. She had trouble eating even her treats, but had a few, and then staggered over to nap under the hostas.

Later, M came home, and we all sat in the yard together, but doing our own things. A few minutes before the vet was expected, Kitty came out, had a drink, and curled in the grass under my chair, resting her head on my ankle. M came over and had a little scritchfest with her, too. Soon after that, the vet arrived, we discussed, and then we agreed that it was the right time, all things considered.

It was exactly what I wanted for her: she was able to purr all the way until the sedation took full effect, after spending the perfect summer morning in the yard, and before her death was a struggle.

It was also exactly what I wanted for me: I gave her as good a death as I could, and I was able to recognize when it was time to make that choice. I was really afraid that I would miss that, or something emergent would appear, and she would die in pain, or confusion.

I went away for the weekend, which was a really good choice. I'm home now, and seeing little ghosts of her everywhere. It's bittersweet, but mostly sweet.

We had a very good life together, and I'm going to miss her a lot.
aroraborealis: (shadow past)
Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.

Even if there is no one dumber,
if you’re the planet’s biggest dunce,
you can’t repeat the class in summer:
this course is only offered once.

No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with precisely the same kisses.

One day, perhaps some idle tongue
mentions your name by accident:
I feel as if a rose were flung
into the room, all hue and scent.

The next day, though you’re here with me,
I can’t help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock?

Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It’s in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow.

With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we’re different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.
aroraborealis: (alone)
Normally, this is a once-a-day gratitude practice for the week of Thanksgiving, but November was hard.

I'm grateful for change and the knowledge that what's difficult today will not always be difficult. Of course, new difficulties will arise, and there's every chance that today's challenges will grow even larger in coming days, but the fact of change means that nothing is forever, and that fact is the key to the door of hope. I'm stashing that key in my locket for all those times when I need it.
aroraborealis: (tree gaze)
I'm thankful for the friendship I had with [livejournal.com profile] contessagrrl. It was uniquely wonderful in what she and I brought out in each other, in how we could join together in fun and play and delight in the world, in our fellow humans, in taking big bites of experience together.

She opened my mind and my world of experience more than any one other person in my adult life, not through any particular effort on her part, but by being who she was, and giving me the opportunity time and again to say yes to something new.

There's so much to miss about her, and I've been missing it for a long time, due to the effects of PTSD on her interior world and what that meant in our friendship, but I always imagined we would find our way back to each other somehow in the future, and I'm so sad to have that taken away from us. But more importantly, I'm so sad that she doesn't get to return to the world with her love of life renewed, as she worked so hard to do.

That's the thing that I think will always be the biggest part of my memories of her: that love of life, of exploration, of humans, of hedonism paired with a deep longing to be better.

I am thankful for her.
aroraborealis: (shadow past)
It's pretty hard to feel thankful this year. In the last two weeks, [livejournal.com profile] contessagrrl died suddenly and unexpectedly, and Trump was elected.

But in dark times, hope shines the light of a way forward, so I'm starting out this week's gratitudes for hope. It springs eternal, the green bud of the crocus pushing through the snow banks, not promising that winter is over, but promising that it will end.

I don't know where we're going from here, but I know I'm bringing hope with me, and that's what has me putting each foot in front of the other for now.

God Sauce

Nov. 12th, 2015 08:53 pm
aroraborealis: (roots)
When I think of Rick, I think of his deep, resonant voice, and his big belly laugh that invited you to join. I think of how sweet and loving he was with his son Gabe and other little kids. I think of how he would listen carefully to what people would say, mulling it over, never simply taking their words at face value. I think of how little patience he had for bullshit, including his own. I think of how hard he worked, and how much he dedicated to making a better life for his family.

Rick had a wonderful turn of phrase, an ability to shine a light on a conversation or way of thinking that could always make you laugh and think at the same time. One of his phrases that I still use is "God sauce" to apply to anything religious-y. Reiki? God sauce. Bible? God sauce. Magical thinking? God sauce. I can see him holding his hand over an imaginary platter as though pouring out from a ladle.

Rick died unexpectedly in October, leaving his amazing and loving wife and son, and so very many people who loved him. He was one of those people who filled a room in a wonderful way, cracked jokes, listened thoughtfully, was generous and loving and kind. He was one of those people who can leave a him-shaped hole in your heart, even if he wasn't part of your day-to-day. I do and will miss him so so much.

God sauce, just pour it all over everything.
aroraborealis: (flag-bars)
It is hard to appreciate a feeling of thankfulness today, given the ongoing events in Ferguson, which painfully represent events, practices, and ways of thinking throughout the United States and the world. I feel heartbroken that our society continues to fail black people in such a violent and dehumanizing way. I am sick knowing that I benefit from the system that oppresses black Americans and black people around the world.

So, today, I give thanks for the noisy agitators whose efforts make a ubiquitous and unjust practice rise to the level of news. I am grateful for the hard work done for decades by people striving for the liberation of people not seen or recognized as people by the society they live in. I grieve for the need for their work, and I am so thankful to them for doing it. May there be less cause for their work in the future.
aroraborealis: (raven's wing)
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose, under Heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose, under Heaven

A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose, under Heaven

A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose, under Heaven

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time to love, a time to hate
A time for peace, I swear it's not too late
aroraborealis: (alone)
My heart is broken for Connecticut, and for the friends and family most directly harmed there. I'm just sitting at my desk crying, can't believe we do this to each other.
aroraborealis: (cosmic)
This is the first day I've felt like myself for a couple of weeks, and it's really nice.

Two weeks ago, my uncle died, and I've been laid pretty low by sadness about that. I'm still sad today, but I feel more functional and like I'm integrating the sadness into my emotional landscape more than I'd been able to before. So, that's good.

His memorial service was on Saturday, and it was really wonderful. I loved hearing stories about him -- funny ones, loving ones, wistful ones. It was so neat to hear a bit about the inside of his other relationships. It made me think a lot about how we know people as we know them, but we often don't get insight into the different people they are with different people.

I cried a lot, and it was so helpful to be surrounded by people who are similarly sad about his death. Cousin Sarah had lots of old pictures all over the place, which inspired people to tell a lot of great stories. So many people loved him and will miss him.

It was also really good to hear about times in his life before he had Parkinson's. He lived with it for 20 years, so pretty much the whole time I knew him, it was in play, and it was always a big point of discussion and concern in the family, of course, so certainly it was a huge point in my experience of him.

I'm still sad, of course, but it feels good and right to be sad about losing someone I loved and miss.
aroraborealis: (cosmic)
Today, my dad's oldest brother died, after many days of preparation. And, really, months and years of preparation. He was 68.

Uncle Doug was a little socially awkward, always quirky, reserved. He took pictures of food before the Internet, and even made at least one album of photographs of dinners he'd had. The last picture in the album is photo of a toilet bowl.

He was the oldest son of a difficult father, and suffered in the military academy where he and his brothers went for high school. He worked hard to live the life that was expected of him. He loved to golf. He has a daughter, my cousin Sarah, who is my age. He lived with Parkinson's for many years.

Doug was a really good person. He was incredibly amiable and regularly struck up friendly conversations with strangers. While sitting at his deathbed, his daughter told the story of him not arriving in Boston for her to meet him because he had started a conversation during his layover and decided to miss his flight in order to continue it.

For many years, he was my only family in Boston; most other Carsons live out west, and we bonded over that.

Doug greatly looked forward to retirement as the time in his life when he could kick back a enjoy, but before he could do that, he was diagnosed with Parkinson's and took an early disability retirement that looked so different from what he hoped or imagined.

I will miss him, an the world is a less wonderful place without him.

In his memory, please do somethig pleasurable or wonderful today that you had thought to put off to a later time.
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