It lives in the body

For the last few days I had flits of thoughts of happy, butterflies and puppy dog tails, posts but today has kicked all of that out. Truly I have been having some wonderful days, even yesterday but then it hit. Despite feeling really good, despite knowing it was anniversary time, I thought I would escaped unscathed. Oh that damn hubris.

Friday was the one year anniversary of declaring my last relationship over, soon it will be one year since I got in my car and drove out of Dayton with plans only vaguely in place. It has been an amazing journey so far as some of you might know if you've been reading this blog all that time. It's true I did not talk about the problems in the last relationship and I promised that I would not air the contents of what happened. I have, for better or worse, kept that vow I made to myself. There are times I have wanted to spill the vessel of stories, of my truths but I knew there was no way to do that without letting loose something that would then be beyond my control.

Today I crashed, felt this crushing sense of ennui. I have done nothing, sans a load of laundry that still needs to folded. It was a day of random computer games, a bit of clearing out an email box and barely eating. After about 8 hours of this that I realized somewhere in the crevices of my gray matter the truth of the calendar leaked out, leaving lead coursing though my limbs. Deluding myself with how happy I feel so much of the time, I forgot that the body remembers; the body does not need a datebook, it just remembers that a year ago I was in deep grief with a whisper of hope. A year ago I had finally done enough self examination, a few brief but meaningful doses of what could be, that it was time to leave, to move forward. This has happened before, this unconscious act, akin to muscle memory. But I presumed given that I am in such more centered place I could escape such triggers. Again, hubris.

I am humbled to know that I am still earth bound, bound by conventions of human nature, that anniversaries ache no matter how much one thinks they have grieved. So rather than be hammering on myself for what I did not accomplish today I will try to give myself the graciousness I extend to someone in this space.

To Dharma: Rescue Me. From Dharma

I wish I knew how to fly, how to let my feelings fly around my head, appreciate their dips and soaring abilities; it would be amazing to just enjoy them regardless if there was bounding sadness looping around my head or the thrill of silence.

My pattern of wanting every one happy or at least not mad or sad, particularly at me is really I suspect my own discomfort with the anger and grief that resides in me; that if I can make others feel better than there is hope for me. It is the same magical thinking that I have about my mother, if she became truly sane and functional than I would be safe from the crazy. I don't want my presence in someone's life to make things harder for them, but I suspect it does, because, well I am crazy in my own way; because while I am a realist a lot of the time I feel like I spin tales, recast the better side of myself that leads people to think I am more than I am. When the truth comes out, they are disappointed and feel a bit trapped by the fantasy. Then they are mad. Then I am mad at me, at them; I want to save them from the sink hole I have dug for them but I can't. In truth I did not dig it, though perhaps I helped lead them to the sink hole that resides within, so I can't rescue them either. Everyone, especially me, needs to rescue themselves and yet I yearn to rescue, to help, to offer sixteen lights at the end of their tunnel.

Rescue me by Buckcherry seems the closest to how I feel right now, except it's all about me, no one else in my head and heart right now to do this for me. I have no idea who Buckcherry is, I just did a lyric search for "rescue me," just in case you are wondering about my music choices. I need to learn, deeply, make it my operating system, how to take care of me, how not to obsessively rescue others, not to lose me inside someone. It is scary, I know how to do the basics like housing, job, feeding; it is the deeper stuff - being alone, facing all my feelings without judgment, pampering me, taking care of my health on all levels. To honor my needs and wants without rationalizing why I shouldn't have them or meet them.

I feel a little like an addict, like everyday is going to be a struggle to make the best choice, to not bathe in the waters of someone else's needs, to not offer lifesavers before some one actually says they need one.

So today I claim as day one of recognizing my lack of control over or for other's people's feelings; that people will get mad at me, they have a right to their feelings, as do I; that I will continue to be as loving and supportive to everyone as I can while remembering to do the same for myself.

Sad Sex

So yesterday, as often on weekday afternoons, I was watching Charmed. Yes I confess, I am a huge fan and watch the episodes over and over. Every once in awhile I catch on, particularly from the early Pru years that I missed. I can't imagine that there are any I haven't seen but every once in a while... I digress.

It's the episode where Piper and Leo get trapped in that nether world, the way station between life and death. While there they sadly reflect on their relationship and the stresses. From there an intimate moment develops which creates the next offspring. As with other times, in other movies, and television shows grief in particular but often great sadness turns to great passion. I have never.ever.experienced this. Is something wrong with me? I suspect not. I suspect it's a bizarre plot to further confuse the emotional life of people in these united states.

I have had moments of great grief but never has a tearful moment led to tender sex. Perhaps it's because tender, gentle sex is not my mainstay. Of course sometimes the image is of passionate, wild sex but again, never in my life. I consider myself a pretty passionate person but never does a trip down the path of grief lead to lovemaking. Is it me? I swear half the time I see this sort of thing on television I wonder if it's real, or is it more of the prince charming syndrome? On soap operas (yes I watch those too) these people never seem to have to struggle to find a baby sitter for great nights out, no kid ever walks in as they're about to get down to business. I know, I know, this stuff is created as an escape but it's such an unrealistic image of real adult life and kids watch this stuff! Between soap operas starting at age 11 and reading Cosmo by age 14 I was seriously unprepared for the real world! I feel like I should be able to sue someone - you know like the line from Dennis Leary's stand up routine when he asks about suing James Taylor for turning him into a pussy and thus not getting laid during the 70's.

Seriously had I known then what I know now about images and sex, my god, would my life be different. Who knew Audra Barkley was wearing hairpieces and false eyelashes? And that Victoria Barkley was shot with vaseline on the lens and had already probably had a face lift in the 60's, and Heath was wearing a girdle? Watching it a repeat in afternoons I certainly had no idea. All I knew was as thick as my hair was, I could never make it look like Audra.

Lately on All My Children (hush now!) Kendall and her husband Zach have been having sex practically everyday. Now of course this probably to cover her guilt at having sad sex with an ex (Aiden). Kendall and Aiden were grieving the disappearance of their mates and in a fit of immense grief that they were actually dead, they had sex. See how it works? Again, another thing I don't do, have sex because I feel guilty about something I've done, not done, whatever.

Grief and guilt are just not aphrodisiacs for me.

Perhaps the solution is to stop watching television. Yeah, that'll happen. Not.

Trying to find balance

Casa de Cedar is still grieving, all of us having a little in some moments and a great deal in others. Friday morning is when we found Saana, that night Atticus did not eat dinner. Marcelle, her sister has been very cuddly at night, snuggling into me, then TGF, then between us, touching whoever she was least close to. The other day Atticus emitted a cry that TGF says is the one he does when I am gone and he crawls the house looking for me.

At the end of our walk with Ruth (piccolo's mom) on Sunday I had to say the words out loud, tell someone who didn't know for the first time. Ruth has been very invested in these kittens as well so it really sucked to tell her. The up side is she is someone who really gets the connection one can have with an animal and absolutely knew how important Saana was to me.

Sunday night I dreamt that Saana came back and my joy was huge, my nightmare over but she wouldn't let me hold her. Doesn't take Freud to figure it out. I woke up, I guess in frustration because some part of my head knew it was a dream and thus wanted it over because the false hope was more unbearable. Or something.

On Monday I took Joia (Delta Burke of the cat world) to the vet (spending way more money than we have but not as much as their initial menu selection of tests would have cost) and had to tell them to pull Saana's file. Of course I met the tech who took care of Saana and Marcelle during their spay, the one who thought they were so cute she had to take a photo, thus my third time in two days telling of our sad story. Somehow I was able to dissociate enough at the vet office that I barely teared up.

TGF and I have been very quiet, not talking too much, for better or worse. We have both been alternatively introspective, cranky, and sad; not a good mix, not at all. Can you tell what's coming next? It is rather embarrassing to report but we argued today. The upside is that we had some good conversation afterwards about some of our patterns. Another good thing is I created an hourly 5 day week schedule for myself to add some structure in order to get some control over my life - at least I hope so.

As part of our breaking up some of the tension we splurged and went out to a real dinner out - you know a place with cloth napkins and everything! We checked out a place called Mangia Mangia, which I had checked out on Yelp (I {heart} Yelp) because we had just been talking about finding some Italian restaurants. The original conversation was about one of those little mom 'n pop places which doesn't exactly describe where we went because this was a little more upscale than we were imagining. The service was quite good, the garlic-parsley spread for the bread was spectacular - TGF asked me to figure out how to make it. It was hard to not burst out laughing, I mean really all it is in minced garlic, a tiny bit of parsley and some olive oil. "Are you sure?" was the response. Our entrees was quite tasty. The glass of wine I ordered was far from wonderful but it was decent - a Riesling from Australia, what was I thinking?

During dinner we bantered, chatted and even laughed - it felt like the first time since Friday that we had any real levity. It felt like the tide had began to shift a bit, finally. Just a bit ago I called Marcelle "Saana" by mistake and we both teared up but the moment passed. I expect I will keep thinking I see her, mistake one of the other cats motion, sniffing, or meows for her, for a very long time.

Saana Bella: The gift of love

She and her sister, Marcelle (nee Marcel) arrived in a small purse carried by Sarah B. Together they weighed twelve ounces and both could fit in my small hand at nine days old.
Quickly they grew out of the cardboard box, even more rapidly they, especially Saana, climbed out of the playpen scored from Freecycle. We worried about Atticus's response to the kittens as he has always wanted to be an only child but within hours of a feisty hissing from Saana he was smitten. First with her but then he took Marcelle under his wing as well.


We swore we were not keeping these babies, denying how in love with them we were. Quickly we forgot the bottle feedings and daily wash load of poopy towels. Atticus made it clear that he believed we got these little beings for him as he watched over them, bathed them and napped draping his gray body around them.


Saana never let TGF dress or undress in peace for every time she bent over Saana jumped on her back leaving her hunched over trying to coax a kitten off her back. She made Wyatt share his snacks by taking the dried chicken strip pieces out of his mouth.

A stuffed miniature dingo came with a kid's meal from one of the fast food places and Saana carried it around in her mouth alternatively like a kitten or her kill, trilling as she roamed the house with it.
Saana reached up on your legs to ask to picked up just as a toddler raises her hands and say "uppie". Impossible to refuse her sweet, pleading eyes. She had taken to asking for morning cuddles with me, going under the covers, resting her head under my chin. With her two front paws she would grab fingers when she wanted to be stroked.

Saana was fearless of everything, life was a banquet of adventure and she wanted to sample all that there was out there. It is hard to be angry at her spirit, even if it was that gusto that caused her death. She was the only one of the cats that had no fear of anything, including cars.

This morning TGF noted that Saana was not around when we went to bed. She had disappeared before and upon her arrival back at home received a stern talking to but it had little long term impact as her absence this morning proved.

"I think I saw Saana under the car." The tone in TGF's voice told me everything but I held onto a whisper of hope. We went out the front door, before crossing the threshold she looked at my feet which were clad in socks and said "You're going like that?" Across the street, under the Purple Beast I saw something and my heart stopped. At the first break in traffic I ran across still hoping against hope that she was saving her energy.

Down on my knees I reached underneath. TGF saw the truth as I reached to touch her fur and returned to the house for a cloth. Sobbing I reached for my girl and held her, there in my shoeless state on the asphalt. TGF came back, draping the pillowcase over her; she carried her back across the street to lay her on the ground below the house steps. She went into the house and I sat on the steps. Gently I lifted my baby into my arms and stroked her fur, tickled at her belly. Her body was stiff but her ears were still soft and malleable, her tail sprung back awkwardly when moved. I talked to her, wondering if we had found her earlier if she would have lived, with the next breath hoping she didn't suffer and that her end came quickly without pain.

When I ran across the street and scooped her up I flashed on an event that happened more than 15 years prior. I was working at a veterinary hospital. Late one night while I was at the front desk a couple ran in - the man was carrying his dog, sobbing uncontrollably. His dog had been hit by a car. Grief enveloped the space and I felt like I could not get enough air in my lungs. I swore while standing there taking information, comforting that I would never let an animal in that deep again. At the time Sybil, my beautiful Turkish Van girl gripped my heart and I swore she would be the last to hold me that tight. For better or worse I have kept my beloved animals at a distance. Few have gotten really deep and I have not expressed deep grieving over their deaths. Scully came the closest and I miss him always.

Until a year ago I had never seen the body of any of my animals when they passed. Living in western Massachusetts they all went off to die, or were taken by a coyote but I never saw it. Never buried an animal. In June 2005, we woke to find one of our foster kittens, Larissa, had died. Tiny, limp body with the softest fur. Robin, another foster, never woke from her spay but I never saw her. Late October, for the first time I had to put an animal down, my beloved Elliott - who had grabbed my heart in that way I swore against. Somehow my heart has become unguarded. I do think it's connected to my relationship with TGF - there is an unguarded quality with her and now it's extending outward. My love for Saana ran through my blood, touching all my cells. It is the same for all the animals, though they each have a special place they tug.

I am not angry about her death but the loss feels uncontainable and inescapable right now. I know that she was enjoying life completely right up until she was hit, that she was in her element - exploring and being fascinated by the world. I do want to know how to tell the universe that I get it, that I cannot be shut off from deep feelings and that the lessons can stop now.