Weblog 188
September 13, 2009~ 12:00am
I've had one week to settle into grief, to let it wash over me again and again. Grief is necessary; those who do not grieve honestly can never get beyond death sufficiently so the remembrance of the life itself is what is left of the ashes. Grief by deferrment is not an option. One has to cry, to feel the hurt, to get past it.
So many memories have flooded through me day and night. Funny things, things that aggravated me, touchstones of nearly twenty one years of living with a cat. I couldn't have flowers in the house- he would eat them. I had to watch always where I was walking because he was underfoot and loved to dash right under a raised shoe and make it through, little trill of victory chirruping as he flew by-- because he could. Life without a 'day to day buddy'- human or animal, is a strange and forlorn place ...at first.
Day by day, I'm becoming accustomed to not being greeted at the door-- to not waking up and immediately feeding my friend-- to not talking pretty much constantly, for I kept a up steady conversation with him over the years-- then I'd laugh at that dour expression that never failed to crack me up. He knew me warts and all... and he loved me anyway. I was his human. That's what I miss.
These dearly departed from our lives are temples- they become a place we go to for the solace of remembering. At first, it's very painful to be there, but I trust it will become an easier place to enter, and a source of joy in the future. I will be its blue robed monk
--and I'll keep the incense burning.
All love is holy. Love makes a holy place in each of us-- made by the times we tried to soothe the suffering in those we love, and from all the days of shared excitement or silliness or joy in the hours-- those are the places we walk without shoes, with heads bowed.
Saturday evening, Wayne and I did our usual Saturday things-- the dinner out, the grocery shopping, the movie rental....but without the third Musketeer. (I think he would have hated our choice. Spooky stuff. Lots of zombie things jumping out) -and when I'd jump, so would he- stretched along my right flank, disturbed from his drowsing. Beethoven would have gotten up and walked away, then gone upstairs to get his drink from the perpetually dripping tub faucet.
So yes, this was our first weekend without him, but honestly, last weekend watching him go was so painful, I'm glad it's over -- for all of us. He was very brave to the last. Very determined to keep to as much of his routines- the greeting, the repeated trips to the waterbowl, the vocalizing his hello -he tried even on the last morning
when he was weakest-- even then, he tried.
That's his last picture taken on September 6th in the morning; my buddy passed that night. I'd like to think he was stepping toward some shimmering beyond, looking at lights in a fluttery mystery as he closed his eyes for the very last time.
We've decided to finally return to the place where we take our sorrows, Wayne and me, so the week after this we're going back to Gettysburg-- a place we've not visited for the last four years.
It's a place of tremendous sadness, but also of peace... and finality. It's been there for us in all the worst moments of personal- and even national loss, and it's always felt like exactly the right place to be. President Lincoln set that land aside to honor the dead-- and now its the site of our collective mourning: the atmosphere on the field is like nowhere else. I truly cannot wait to walk that ground again.... and you may be sure we'll be carrying Beethoven with us where he is most firmly planted- smack in the middle of our hearts.
September 14, 2009~ 5:15am
Browsing my 'favorites', I inevitably end up at Olga's Gallery- Online Art Museum, and this morning, I became fascinated with a Russian painter I'm not familiar with, but he'd painted the most beautiful portraits! The eyes are so liquidy alive....
See? You can gaze deeply into them, the long dead sitter still warm, still looking out at you. If you've never visited Olga's, treat yourself and start with Valentin Serov - then have a look around. It's a marvelous place to get lost in!
September 15, 2009~ 7:45am
Ah! this is the real
Dirty Dancing
(Patrick Swayze. RIP, hon.)
***
(Return To Weekly Archives)
I've had one week to settle into grief, to let it wash over me again and again. Grief is necessary; those who do not grieve honestly can never get beyond death sufficiently so the remembrance of the life itself is what is left of the ashes. Grief by deferrment is not an option. One has to cry, to feel the hurt, to get past it.
So many memories have flooded through me day and night. Funny things, things that aggravated me, touchstones of nearly twenty one years of living with a cat. I couldn't have flowers in the house- he would eat them. I had to watch always where I was walking because he was underfoot and loved to dash right under a raised shoe and make it through, little trill of victory chirruping as he flew by-- because he could. Life without a 'day to day buddy'- human or animal, is a strange and forlorn place ...at first.
Day by day, I'm becoming accustomed to not being greeted at the door-- to not waking up and immediately feeding my friend-- to not talking pretty much constantly, for I kept a up steady conversation with him over the years-- then I'd laugh at that dour expression that never failed to crack me up. He knew me warts and all... and he loved me anyway. I was his human. That's what I miss.
These dearly departed from our lives are temples- they become a place we go to for the solace of remembering. At first, it's very painful to be there, but I trust it will become an easier place to enter, and a source of joy in the future. I will be its blue robed monk
--and I'll keep the incense burning.
All love is holy. Love makes a holy place in each of us-- made by the times we tried to soothe the suffering in those we love, and from all the days of shared excitement or silliness or joy in the hours-- those are the places we walk without shoes, with heads bowed.
Saturday evening, Wayne and I did our usual Saturday things-- the dinner out, the grocery shopping, the movie rental....but without the third Musketeer. (I think he would have hated our choice. Spooky stuff. Lots of zombie things jumping out) -and when I'd jump, so would he- stretched along my right flank, disturbed from his drowsing. Beethoven would have gotten up and walked away, then gone upstairs to get his drink from the perpetually dripping tub faucet.
So yes, this was our first weekend without him, but honestly, last weekend watching him go was so painful, I'm glad it's over -- for all of us. He was very brave to the last. Very determined to keep to as much of his routines- the greeting, the repeated trips to the waterbowl, the vocalizing his hello -he tried even on the last morning
when he was weakest-- even then, he tried.
That's his last picture taken on September 6th in the morning; my buddy passed that night. I'd like to think he was stepping toward some shimmering beyond, looking at lights in a fluttery mystery as he closed his eyes for the very last time.
We've decided to finally return to the place where we take our sorrows, Wayne and me, so the week after this we're going back to Gettysburg-- a place we've not visited for the last four years.
It's a place of tremendous sadness, but also of peace... and finality. It's been there for us in all the worst moments of personal- and even national loss, and it's always felt like exactly the right place to be. President Lincoln set that land aside to honor the dead-- and now its the site of our collective mourning: the atmosphere on the field is like nowhere else. I truly cannot wait to walk that ground again.... and you may be sure we'll be carrying Beethoven with us where he is most firmly planted- smack in the middle of our hearts.
September 14, 2009~ 5:15am
Browsing my 'favorites', I inevitably end up at Olga's Gallery- Online Art Museum, and this morning, I became fascinated with a Russian painter I'm not familiar with, but he'd painted the most beautiful portraits! The eyes are so liquidy alive....
See? You can gaze deeply into them, the long dead sitter still warm, still looking out at you. If you've never visited Olga's, treat yourself and start with Valentin Serov - then have a look around. It's a marvelous place to get lost in!
September 15, 2009~ 7:45am
Dirty Dancing
(Patrick Swayze. RIP, hon.)
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