I am not sure which was harder: going to bed Tuesday night knowing it was our last night together vs. Wednesday night after you were gone. I tried not to make your last days living with me full of loud grief and gulping sobs. But as the appointment drew near, I felt more and more desperate to slow down time, turn back the clock, all the imaginary ways to keep you forever.
Joe got up early yesterday morning to sit on the porch so I wouldn’t come out to complete emptiness. Today, it is just me. If I don’t think too hard, I can imagine you are sleeping elsewhere in the house. But your essence is gone. I know/feel your presence is missing. And it hurts to know I will never again in this lifetime experience nuzzling my nose into your soft fur.
Molly – you came into my life in 2014, at a time when I was completely overloaded with un-managed stress. You saved me from going completely blind by absorbing and drawing out the negative cortisol from my body. Your goofy antics and sweet love was so cat-like and yet pure Molly Gill-esque. I have known many dogs in my life and you were unique and one-of-a-kind. With the body of a small deer!
Bonding with you was a beautiful project and as I realized your capacity for training to be my service companion, the world opened up for us. Because my disability is invisible, it took me years to confidently introduce you as a service dog. But your confidence in me was never in doubt. You went to work and served me with love, devotion, and this single-mindedness to steady me. Even with all of your own health challenges, you were patient with me feeding you meds and grooming, bathing, and bothering you with experimental lotions, wipes, sprays. All I wanted for you was to be comfortable in your own skin; your immune system eventually broke down but you never stopped being beautiful.
Last day at the beach
Did you know on Wednesday morning that going to the beach and coming home to nap WITHOUT a shower was unusual? Or did you just accept that I had forgotten to wash the sand off you? Living in the moment was your best asset. I will try to be more like you.
Big Blue Sleep Machine
Denethor – I have so much to say. And yet don’t know where to begin. Begin at the beginning and go on from there – who said that? When you showed up in the driveway on that dark Sunday night in July 2006, I could barely believe my eyes. An orange kitten? Showing up out of the blue? Just like Derek Tangye’s book! Your magic and mysticism will continue to astound me for the rest of my life.
Our first night together is burned like a movie in my memory. I remember carrying you around the block to see if anyone knew who you were or where you came from. I remember lying on the big blue sleep machine and you crawled up on my chest and buried your nose in my left shoulder/collarbone…kneading and nuzzling and purring…
Kypre and Arwen seemed to be expecting you. No one fussed. I left the back door open for days and you were always inside waiting for me when I got home. You never left.
And the way you curled up with Joe when he got home from Australia – you knew he had to be won over and you simply plonked yourself like a little spoon to his big spoon. Remember the nights you walked the edge of the hot tub while we were soaking before bed? And the night you got stuck in the tree? And the time that Arwen pounced on you from behind the garden shed because she was tired of you shadowing her? When we moved to Irvine the next year, you insisted Joe take you for a drag in the evenings. You were ‘cat-dog’ from Nickelodeon. You made us laugh. Our bed was full and after nuzzling my hair each night, you settled down on Joe’s feet.
When Arwen left in 2010, you migrated to my side of the bed. You comforted me when I was mourning her loss. You taught Shasta to sleep on the bed. You guarded us each night after I fell asleep by sitting outside on the roof. You banged your way back inside at dawn to help us start our day. You gave Richard a heart attack by enticing Shasta out on the roof one day!
You accepted the stream of visitors to our home like you were a paid Walmart greeter. I never got over your capacity to engage with people – so different from any other cat I have lived with. You loved the big parties as much as we did! And long-term live-in guests were treated to your feline affection whether they were originally cat-people or not! You made them all cat-people!
Friends
Your bond with Coco is beyond beautiful – I know you saved her many times over the years. What secrets you two share is unknown to me but I am proud that you kept her confidences and showered her with your unique brand of love. Thank you for taking care of her.
“Grief is love with no place to go” is a refrain heard during times of loss. I have so much love for both of you and am impatient for my heart to grow big enough to contain the hurt of losing you both. Grief doesn’t go away nor is it something to get over/recover from. It is an emotion that is experienced keenly and deeply when the two-way love communication becomes restricted to one-way only. When I sat with either of you, we communicated through touch and small gestures that we made up together in our love language. I told you stuff and you both listened and often replied with chirrups, meows, chuffs, sighs, etc. I loved coming home to Molly after an absence and how she would excitedly “talk” to us telling us everything that happened while we were apart! The three of us kept poor Joe awake each night with our combined snoring! I never felt alone because you two have been so integral to my day-to-day living. Thank you for giving yourselves fully to me. Thank you for your unconditional love of me. Thank you for finding me.
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in a life?
How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love...
Seasons of love...
Seasons of love...