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The short post is: my cat is 16 1/2 years old.
Do you ever grieve something in advance?
Like, you know you're going to lose it, the loss is inevitable, and you FEEL SOME FEELINGS ABOUT THAT.
I didn't do that when dad died, we were too busy living the day to day and caring for him, so the grief just sat on us for like, years, one monolithic lump, until a variety of griefquake episodes of varying intensity and duration broke the monolith into more manageable chunks. The chunks are still pretty much around but after 25 years the edges are worn down and don't cut you when you get too close, they don't fall on you and crush you, you can get around them, they don't prevent you from living your life and getting stuff done. They're kinda inconvenient, they twang on heartstrings, but they're not incapacitating.
When Scotty was diagnosed with cancer (fuck cancer!) He died 8 months later (fuck fatphobia in doctor's, a sudden rapid weightloss is TEXTBOOK for cancer, literally), it was 13 years after dad. I'd been doing therapy and writing as well as ritual work around grief, and about Dad and his varied inabilities "to Dad", as a verb. I was more emotionally healthy. I was in a supportive loving and nondramatic relationship (thank you Jeff) and I processes my own various feelings (anger, shame, disappointment and grief) at ten times the speed as I did with Dad. I almost was able to feel them in real-time, quite an accomplishment.
Years ago I gave myself explicit permission to feel my own feelings,even if I was worried or afraid they would be inconvenient or something to the people around me.
Now I'm fifty. I've lost all four grandparents, many friends my own age, people who stood in as adoptive aunts, uncle's, and grandparents. My dad. My little brother. The cousin who was only six months older than me, six months after Scotty died.
And I spent two years doing detailed medical care for our beloved Big Kitty, Otter. He needed daily subcutaneous (sub-Q) fluids, insulin for almost a year, and eventually, bathroom help.
When it was time for him to go, it was really clear. He stopped eating. He couldn't climb up on the bed anymore. He tried to hide, run away, (to die, I was sure) and that terrified me. I'd been pouring effort and love into him so long and so intensely.
He was my first kitty to go. I didn't get to be there for the kitties I had with my ex, when it was their time.
And now My Nose, my Tribble-cat. She's having bathroom problems, of a different kind than she had when we had to put her on anti-crystal food. She's perky and snuggly and affectionate, doesn't seem to be unhealthy other than yowling a lot, pissing in the living room, and hissing at every damn reflective surface in the damn house.
So yeah. I can imagine the end coming.
I have to admit, that it Must Come. That The End Is Unavoidable.
And the world sucks, and I have incompletely grieved the changes from coronavirus, and the California wildfires (so we get to wear TWO kinds of masks); how I miss my family and my friends and my dance community and my new lover, and Jeff and Tribble and J and D and their kids are what makes all of that remotely bearable, and I don't know what I'm going to do if I, when I, lose Tribble. my First Girl, my sweetheart, the yodeler in the hallway, who curls up over my heart when I am sad, and on my lap when she is lonely.
So today I was scrubbing up a pee-lake, and I blew up at Jeff a little bit. Because between not wanting to do that task, wishing SO HARD it wasn't necessary, actually breaking down the steps needed to do the task without spilling pee across the living room and or the kitchen, and Feeling the FEELINGS ABOUT THAT... And then he asked me ... SOMETHING, I got overwhelmed, and a bit of stuff blew past the gasket I guess I'd sealed over the Everything Going On.
A thing I've been encouraging myself to do is let myself cry whenever I feel the need. Intellectually I have figured out that shedding the salts and chemicals will help balance the stress and the FEELINGS.
So right now I am finishing up this post with her on my lap, the tears are drying up. My floor is clean (or as clean as I personally ever get it, though now I need to do laundry). I have a bowl of strawberries and the new Animal Crossing update waiting for me, and Jeff made us lunch and made sure I ate it.
This equilibrium is not horrible.
And I will continue to try and let out the safety valve on the FEELINGS bottle every so often so I don't hurt myself or anyone else, I hope.
Do you ever grieve something in advance?
Like, you know you're going to lose it, the loss is inevitable, and you FEEL SOME FEELINGS ABOUT THAT.
I didn't do that when dad died, we were too busy living the day to day and caring for him, so the grief just sat on us for like, years, one monolithic lump, until a variety of griefquake episodes of varying intensity and duration broke the monolith into more manageable chunks. The chunks are still pretty much around but after 25 years the edges are worn down and don't cut you when you get too close, they don't fall on you and crush you, you can get around them, they don't prevent you from living your life and getting stuff done. They're kinda inconvenient, they twang on heartstrings, but they're not incapacitating.
When Scotty was diagnosed with cancer (fuck cancer!) He died 8 months later (fuck fatphobia in doctor's, a sudden rapid weightloss is TEXTBOOK for cancer, literally), it was 13 years after dad. I'd been doing therapy and writing as well as ritual work around grief, and about Dad and his varied inabilities "to Dad", as a verb. I was more emotionally healthy. I was in a supportive loving and nondramatic relationship (thank you Jeff) and I processes my own various feelings (anger, shame, disappointment and grief) at ten times the speed as I did with Dad. I almost was able to feel them in real-time, quite an accomplishment.
Years ago I gave myself explicit permission to feel my own feelings,even if I was worried or afraid they would be inconvenient or something to the people around me.
Now I'm fifty. I've lost all four grandparents, many friends my own age, people who stood in as adoptive aunts, uncle's, and grandparents. My dad. My little brother. The cousin who was only six months older than me, six months after Scotty died.
And I spent two years doing detailed medical care for our beloved Big Kitty, Otter. He needed daily subcutaneous (sub-Q) fluids, insulin for almost a year, and eventually, bathroom help.
When it was time for him to go, it was really clear. He stopped eating. He couldn't climb up on the bed anymore. He tried to hide, run away, (to die, I was sure) and that terrified me. I'd been pouring effort and love into him so long and so intensely.
He was my first kitty to go. I didn't get to be there for the kitties I had with my ex, when it was their time.
And now My Nose, my Tribble-cat. She's having bathroom problems, of a different kind than she had when we had to put her on anti-crystal food. She's perky and snuggly and affectionate, doesn't seem to be unhealthy other than yowling a lot, pissing in the living room, and hissing at every damn reflective surface in the damn house.
So yeah. I can imagine the end coming.
I have to admit, that it Must Come. That The End Is Unavoidable.
And the world sucks, and I have incompletely grieved the changes from coronavirus, and the California wildfires (so we get to wear TWO kinds of masks); how I miss my family and my friends and my dance community and my new lover, and Jeff and Tribble and J and D and their kids are what makes all of that remotely bearable, and I don't know what I'm going to do if I, when I, lose Tribble. my First Girl, my sweetheart, the yodeler in the hallway, who curls up over my heart when I am sad, and on my lap when she is lonely.
So today I was scrubbing up a pee-lake, and I blew up at Jeff a little bit. Because between not wanting to do that task, wishing SO HARD it wasn't necessary, actually breaking down the steps needed to do the task without spilling pee across the living room and or the kitchen, and Feeling the FEELINGS ABOUT THAT... And then he asked me ... SOMETHING, I got overwhelmed, and a bit of stuff blew past the gasket I guess I'd sealed over the Everything Going On.
A thing I've been encouraging myself to do is let myself cry whenever I feel the need. Intellectually I have figured out that shedding the salts and chemicals will help balance the stress and the FEELINGS.
So right now I am finishing up this post with her on my lap, the tears are drying up. My floor is clean (or as clean as I personally ever get it, though now I need to do laundry). I have a bowl of strawberries and the new Animal Crossing update waiting for me, and Jeff made us lunch and made sure I ate it.
This equilibrium is not horrible.
And I will continue to try and let out the safety valve on the FEELINGS bottle every so often so I don't hurt myself or anyone else, I hope.
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