Good-bye Old Friend

                         Emilio

It was just last year when Hazzard our 16 year-old cat died in my arms. Last week thirteen year-old Emilio stopped eating.  I took him to West Seattle Animal Hospital on Wednesday.  Dr. Gomez was hopeful.  He was dehydrated but with fluids perhaps he could come out of this crisis.  We brought him in every day for subcutaneous fluids.  Mr. D and I did not want to poke him ourselves.  We are supposed to be the good guys.  I was still dirt to Emilio for taking him in to the vet at all.  Mr. D drove him in on Saturday while I was at work and Emilio's opinion of Mr.D dropped rapidly.  Every day we tried to get him to eat and some days he'd take a few bites and a few sips of chicken broth but it wasn't enough to make him strong.  On Saturday Dr. Bergstrom told me that we had to decide what we wanted to do.  Did we want to go for aggressive hospitalization and forced feeding or did we want euthanasia if he didn't get better.  I felt we could try fluids for the weekend and make a choice today, Monday.  There was no hurry.  Saturday night he took a turn for the worse.  He let me hold him and I knew that he would die soon but he "did not go gentle into that goodnight"   

He started having convulsions.  Fortunately the clinic is open on Sundays so I changed his fluid appointment to a euthanasia appointment.  By that time it wasn't a difficult decision at all; it was obvious.  He was so weak that the sedative to relax him stopped his heart.  There was no need for a second injection.

It's hard to say good-bye to an old pet.  They live such short lives compared to ours.  The time from kittenhood or puppyhood to old-age is so short but it is so wonderful.  I would not forgo the joy to forgo the sorrow.  Love is worth it.

Reconciliation

The church encourages us to go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation at least once a year.  I usually work Saturdays when it's offered at Holy Rosary so I have a built in excuse.  This Saturday I'm working until 3 pm, plenty of time to get to Confession by 3:30. I don't know if it has been a year or more or less but it's time, something about that spiritual housecleaning business.   Yes, I can confess my sins to God and he will forgive me but there is something special about laying those sins before a priest and receiving absolution.  The dark sins are exposed to the light where they can't hide anymore behind my rationalizations.  The priest who has heard everything is not shocked by my sins and counsels me how to do better.  He is a flesh and blood representative of Jesus who tells me to "go and sin no more".  A penance is assigned which will help me repair my relationship with God.  I give my act of contrition saying that I am truly sorry for sinning against God and promising to do better.  I hear the words of absolution and am dismissed to once again go out into the world as a child of God. 

He comes anyway

"Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under my roof" but Jesus comes anyway.  We are not worthy but the Lord loves us so much that he's willing to spend time with us.  May I always be willing to spend time with him.

Ash Wednesday 2012

Another Lent begins.  Another time to clear out the spiritual cobwebs.  Some give up something for Lent.  Others take on a new spiritual practice.  What keeps us from God?  What will bring us closer?

Last year after my struggle with breast cancer I decided to give up suffering for Lent.  I felt I'd suffered enough with all the things that come with a cancer diagnosis.  Suffering found me in ways that I couldn't have imagined. In March, Hazzard, my sixteen year-old cat died.  He had kidney disease and so his passing wasn't a surprise, it was just painful.  He was an old friend.  He didn't want to be alone when he died and so he died in my arms.  That was hard, that was difficult, but I was shocked at the suffering that was to come.  

Losing a pet is like losing one of the family but it doesn't compare to the loss of someone from the human family.  In April Andrew was killed in a motorcycle accident three days from his twenty-fifth birthday.  He was part of our neighborhood's extended family.  He and his sisters and my son and daughters would migrate from house to house, usually the boys at one and the girls at the other.  I watched him while his parents worked.  As a young man he moved into the house next door to me and started raising his son.  He later moved to a different spot in the neighborhood later but I would see him skateboarding with his dog down the street or taking his son sledding.  "Hi Andrew."  "Hi Cheryl".  And then he was gone, dead, abruptly dead.  It was like I had been kicked in the gut.  This year I am not giving up suffering.

The first reading for Ash Wednesday from the prophet Joel tells us:

Even now, says the LORD,
return to me with your whole heart,
with fasting, and weeping, and mourning;
Rend your hearts, not your garments,
and return to the LORD, your God.

I've approached this Lent with a different attitude.  I am ready to do what I usually do.  I am giving up something that I can give up (don't ask me to give up coffee)  and something that is keeping me from spending time with God and from following his command to "love one another".  I am giving up Facebook and Twitter for the duration and plan to use the extra time gained getting closer to God and to my friends.  It's time to do a little face-to-face or telephoning or physical letter writing to get closer to the people that I love.  I guess the old fashioned ways of communicating are something that I will take up for Lent.  I'm going to try to work against the excuses for not spending dedicated time with God.

These actions won't keep suffering from knocking at my door but they will lead to a healthier relationship with God.  Peace be with you this Ash Wednesday.

  

Mrs. Dermody, Language Police

The other day one of my customers told me she was proud of me.  I was puzzled and asked her what she meant.  She said that she has watched me since I returned to work a year ago. Her husband has been in remission and has gone through cancer treatment and she was pleased at how well I was doing.  I told her that  there wasn't anything that I had done to make me well again.  Others have fought the same battle and have lost. I still survive and don't feel special just grateful.  I just played the hand I was dealt.

The language police part of me that wanted to take the compliment apart.  I looked up the definition of pride in Dictionary.com which says that "It may refer to an affectionate admiration or a justifiable pride concerning someone else."  Oh, that's what she meant, an affectionate admiration.  I was more thinking along the lines of justifiable pride like when I'm proud of my kids. Okay, thanks, which is what I should have said in the first place.

Honoring the Dead: A letter to Dad

Hi Dad,
It's been eleven years since you died at age 89 on November 4, 2000.  You would be 100 years old by now and we'd probably still be driving each other crazy.  Ah, we drove each other crazy but how we loved each other.  Your death was not unexpected.  You had been in and out of the hospital that last year more times than I could count.  After  much deliberation you decided to go into assisted living but you didn't stay there long until you were in the hospital again.  You were to go to a nursing home to get you back on your feet but you knew you were dying of emphysema and you were tired of fighting.  We weren't ready to let you go but had to listen when you decided to go with comfort measures only.

I got the call to come home to Moses Lake to come see you.  I came over on a Greyhound Bus with enough clothes to last me a couple of days.  I ended staying much longer.  I called my manager at my new job at Barnes and Noble in Seattle and told her the situation.  She said, "Take as long as you need."  I began participating in the vigil at your bed.  My oldest brother and I took the day shift.  My youngest brother and sister took the night shift.  My middle brother couldn't come because he had already taken off a lot of time from work during the year and couldn't manage any more.  My aunt flew in to see you one last time.  She had been very young when her father died and as big sister's husband you helped fill the roll. We kept you company on your journey.  On that last night the nurse told us we'd better call everyone because you would probably die that night.  We gathered around your bed, sons, daughters, grandsons, so that we could help you with your journey.  The nurse told us to keep talking to you even if you didn't seem responsive; you would know that you were not alone.  You died.  A young friend of the family and of yours had us make a circle of prayer around you.  You were in a place where you didn't have to labor to breathe.  You were Home.

I miss you, Dad.  I miss talking about the weather on the phone with you.  You often wanted us to send some of our Seattle rain to the dry-lands.  We didn't see eye-to-eye on religion or politics.  It was much safer to talk about rain; on that we could agree.  Oh, I want you to know that we take better care of our car now.  Mr. D and I take it in for regular maintenance so maybe you wouldn't remind us that you told us that the Dodge that died needed looking at.  Yup, we shoulda listened, but you know how kids are.

Love you lots and lots,
C

Honoring the Dead: A Letter to Andrew

Dear Andrew,

It's been half a year since you died.  It was in the spring time and it seemed so out of character for Spring to be a season of sadness.  Most of the people that I have mourned die in the fall or winter. You died on a rainy night in April; it was almost a monsoon.  You took your motorcycle.  I wish you could have taken the Volvo.  Whenever I ask myself why you had to die I have to remind myself that it was a dark and stormy night and the road was slick.  The other driver didn't see you.  When you were little your family had a bird that got caught by the family cat.  Your sister cried, "Why, why did the bird have to die."  You answered, "Because the cat had sharp teeth and claws".  There was no cosmic conspiracy.  It was just life.

A lot has been happening since you passed.  Did you know that they finally have that new skateboard park at Delridge.  I remember you riding up and down the street on your skateboard.  You would have liked the park.  I would love to see you flying up and down those curves. You have a new brother-in-law and a new niece.  One of your sisters got married one day in August; the other had a baby the next.  It's amazing how much sorrow and joy were packed into such a brief time for your family.  Your son is growing into an amazing three year-old.  You, your son's mom, and your parents have done a fantastic job!

I miss you so much.  Every time I see someone dressed like you I see you.  When you died I begged God to give you back.  I knew that wasn't possible in the grand scheme of things but I asked the way a child would ask a parent to fix something that is hopelessly broken.  I watched you grow up alongside my children.  I took care of you while your parents worked. You were almost a brother to my kids and you were almost a son to me.  I'm glad that you were a part of my life.

Love,
C