Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Mama,

So I decided to change things up on my blog.  To make it what it has already become... a one way communication with you.

Do you remember Bruce Almighty when he thinks he can do God's job and then logs in to check the prayer requests.  That's what I wish was true.  Like we had an email system, a way to chat back and forth.  That would be so nice.

There are so many little questions to ask you.  Dad was cleaning out a couple weeks ago, and, of course, I came home with boxes of stuff.  And as I am looking through things, I realize that I have no background story to so many things you saved.  And since my grandmother is gone, too, there will never be answers to so many questions.  There's this red elf doll you saved, and I remember seeing it all through the years, but I have no idea where it came from or what its meaning is.  I most likely asked you at some point or another, but I can't recall it.  The memory is so frustrating.  I want to remember certain things but can't.  Want to forget others but can't seem to push them out of my mind.

The kids and I have settled back into the school routine.  Homework is still no fun.  But luckily, David is doing so much better and keeping up with things independently.  Madalyn is as dramatic as ever about all things.  In fact, I have to make her sit down tonight and work on some homework and begin studying for a test on Friday, and I'm not looking forward to it.  Not at all.

I'm trying to make myself do some little things around the house I just kept putting off.  We found this long piece of slate when we were out riding one day and brought it home.  So I've started painting it, making it into a sign for outside.  I need to finish it up before this weekend.  Scott is off, and football begins, so hopefully we will have a good time.  Fall is just around the corner, though it's hotter now than it has been all summer.  But the leaves are beginning to rustle and brown a bit.  Another fall without you.  Hard to believe.

Love always...

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Mama,

I feel like I'm treading water here lately.  Doggy peddling in the ocean, flipping over on my back to rest by floating every so often.  I'm just so damn tired, Mama.  Tired of the ups and downs and all arounds.  Nothing major is going on.  The kids are healthy and back at school.  We have everything we need and most of what we want.  We are living in the blissful bubble of suburbia.  But all I can think about lately is that I just want to talk to you.

Robin Williams committed suicide the other day.  And if you were alive, we would have sorted out the whole deal over the phone.  We would have reminisced about all his movies we loved so dearly... Dead Poets Society, Mrs. Doubtfire, and What Dreams May Come.  Remember that one?  The one where the daughter dies, and then husband (played by Robin Williams) dies, and the wife just can't go on and ends up killing herself.  We watched it together.  It was weird, but I liked it.  Sadly, I can't remember if you liked it or not, and that bothers me so much.  Anyway, I would tell you how ironic it is that he was in this movie about going through the gates of hell to retrieve his wife so they could be together in heaven, and now here he's gone and killed himself.  It's so sad, him being so talented and amazing and at the same time so desperate.  My heart breaks for his family because I can't imagine how much more complicated it might be to mourn someone who chose to end it instead of mourning someone who fought so hard to stay.

I feel a little isolated, like I'm hiding in a closet somewhere for a little while.  I wouldn't say I'm depressed, but rather I feel I'm just wandering with little to no purpose.  I used to be abustle all the time working on this and that and completing projects around the house.  Even shortly after you died, I kept myself fairly busy.  But lately, I just don't have the energy.  Or the motivation to start anything.  Well, maybe I am a little depressed, but isn't that a part of grief?  I don't know.  I am so very sick of grief.  It's a lonely thing in and of itself, and the further time goes on, the more lonely a feeling it becomes.  No one wants to chat about how much you miss your Mama who's been dead for over two years, how you have to stop your mind from spinning, how your chest feels so heavy sometimes you wish you could take it off and sit it to the side just to get a break.  No one wants to chat about this heaviness, this emptiness.  How can something so empty feel so heavy at the same time?

Surprisingly, I miss my little Millie kitty way more than I thought I would.  It's quiet in the house.  You know how loud and talkative that cat had always been!  And now, no matter what, when I sit down there's no Millie to come and purr in my lap.  I do miss that.  I don't miss the throw up and litter box, but I do miss Millie.  But no one really wants to talk about that, either, except the kids.  We talk about her and how we miss her.

Oh well.  Life moves on.  It moves and moves and moves whether you'd like it to or not.  And so it goes.  But I wonder if there will ever be a day in my life that I don't long to talk to you just one more time... I doubt.

Love always.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Mama,

I hope Millie is with you now.  Everyone always says that all dogs go to heaven, but no one ever discusses cats.  Not many people like them, you know, so I think that's why folks would rather not discuss their eternal life in heaven.  How could you ponder heaven if you couldn't stand cats and would be stuck there for infinity with them?

Anyway... Millie is gone, and she is wherever cats go after they leave the earth.  And I hope she's with her Gammie.  She always loved you.  Remember how if you came to my house, no matter where she was, if she heard your voice, she came running and talking and rubbing her little self against your legs.  Sweet Mill-Mill.

For so many years now, I've been dreaming about the day there would be no more cat hair, litter, puke in various dried-up states all over my house, and no more loud deaf kitty cat meowing at all hours of the night and day.  But, I tell you, the past two weeks have been tough when faced with the decision to really end it all.  It's hard to look at an animal and say to them, "It's time for you to go."  My emotions were so torn about the whole thing.  But I knew that she was failing terribly, and, honestly, I couldn't handle finding her dead.  I had reached the point that I was checking on her all day long, putting my hand on her belly or squatting down to see if her chest was moving.  I was so afraid of when it would happen, what it would be like.  It wasn't like she had any quality of life at all in the past few weeks.  She had stopped coming and sitting with me when I drank my coffee in the morning.  Even her meow sounded different.  She was isolating herself in my closet a lot, and I knew all these things were signs.  All of that combined with some other things going on just let me know it was time.

The kids have taken it well.  Madalyn rode with me to the vet.  She held Millie in the car for me, and she didn't even cry.  She is so much like you, and I guess like me, too.  She held it all together for me because she knew her Mama was emotional.  I told her she was so brave and that I was proud of her.  If she hadn't been with me, I would gone back with Millie for the process, but Madalyn didn't seem like she wanted to see it.  I just felt kinda bad letting a stranger take her off like that.  That was the hardest part; I do wish I had done that for her, but I know that she's okay.

So the house was quiet this morning.  And I still think I can hear her little claws clicking across the kitchen floor the way they did.  I do miss her, but we won't be getting another cat.  I can't say I will ever have one in my house again.  David is allergic, after all.  And now we know we will have to get another dog before Buddy gets too old.  We will all need therapy and medication when he leaves this world.  I can't even let my mind go there.

I miss you, Mama.  Decisions take more of a toll on me than they did when you were alive.  I miss talking things over with you.  I miss your reassurance.  I miss nearly everything about my Mama.

Give Millie a big hug for all of us.

Love always.