Life has been crazy, beautiful this year, and I realized just this morning how close we are to nearing the end of it. Contrary to what my title suggests, this year has seen little of what I would call drama, but has had its share of challenges, mixed with new experiences, and I am heading out of it with a a greater appreciation of self and life than I had when I came into 2015.
Death sucks. If you have time to prepare yourself for the death of a loved-one, then please take advantage of the opportunity. Poseidon and his mother lost a dear family friend early this year without much warning. She went to the hospital for a toe that wouldn't heal and died a few short weeks later, never having left the hospital. The sore toe led to a below-the-knee amputation, and after the amputation, blood work revealed terminal ovarian cancer, and she left us less than 2 weeks later.
We then had to say goodbye to our fur girl, Kat. One of the hardest things I've had to go through. Poseidon and I traveled to Austin, TX in May for a music festival, expecting to kick-off a super summer, and a week after our return, we had to let her go. Quickly. Without warning. Without time to prepare.
Last month, my sweet, kind Aunt Judy left suddenly, and far too young, stunning us all. We are still grieving the loss. She just turned 60 in March. She was my dad's baby sister. October 20 will be what would have been my dad's 70th birthday.
So, we've experienced huge losses in such a short time, but we are stronger for it and have also experienced beauty, and have managed to stay above water (salmon pun intended here, for sure).
My inspiration for this post came from a picture I took earlier this month in Iceland at Faxi waterfall on the Tungufljót river. This salmon ladder was near the falls. I was looking through some of my pictures from that trip and this one inspired me.
Many salmon species migrate during the autumn months, September through November, and most of us know about the epic journey salmon take upstream, only to die after spawning.
This is my cheesy ending, but something I've learned this year after experiencing a great deal of death in my circle, but a great deal of beauty in my travels: though the end is dramatic, the journey need not be because it is a true account of the circle of life.
"I want to be honest with you, this isn't going to end well. Once they reach this age, and we see fluid in the lungs, they have maybe a month, tops, to live."
This is what the vet told me on Friday morning. May 29, 2015.
My routine is now different. It hasn't been interrupted exactly, just different, in a numb, going-through-the-motions kinda sorta way. We washed her food dish, but we placed it back on the floor, in her spot and as of today, it is still there. I see it staying there for the foreseeable future. I kiss my finger and touch it to the dish every morning and every evening when I feed Kwinn. He misses his sister. We all miss her.
Unconditional love. Humans and pets. Kat has been with me each time my life took a new turn. She was a constant. Philadelphia to Nashville. Nashville to Raleigh. Relationships. Break ups. My marriage to Poseidon. She was there, offering unconditional purrs. She was a rock. My rock. When we let a pet into our lives, we know it isn't going to be permanent. We know we will most likely outlive our furry companions. We know this, but we form that bond anyway. The animal-human bond is strong. Sometimes stronger than the human-human bond.
Katarina (Kat for short) was a beautiful presence. Her end was swift. It came out of nowhere. I took her to the vet because she hadn't eaten in 48 hours and her breathing seemed labored. Fast forward to the first sentence of this blog. Dr. Hunt (our compassionate, wonderful vet) drew the fluid out of Kat's lungs, and that seemed to make her feel better and she was able to breathe a bit easier. They wanted to keep an eye on her for a couple of hours, but the future was written. Poseidon and I might have a month with her before we had to say goodbye. I was preparing my head and heart to do just that. I waited the 2 hours for Dr. Hunt to tell me she was stable and OK to bring home and begin our goodbyes. The call came, but it wasn't what I had expected. Dr. Hunt told me that Kat's lungs had not expanded as she had hoped and that she was in distress. I asked her if it would be possible for me to bring her home for the night so that Poseidon and I could say a proper goodbye. She told me that Kat would not last the night. I cried into the phone. Dr. Hunt was truly sympathetic. I told her I was on my way. I called Poseidon to let him know. He wouldn't have time to meet me at the vet's office. He would not be able to say goodbye and hold her one last time.
Fortunately, I was. They led me to a dimly lit room, and they brought Kat in to me, swaddled in a soft blanket/bed type thing. As soon as they handed her to me, she began to purr. I licked her head (yes, I did. I was her momma for 14 years. I was her mother). She purred louder. She seemed OK and content. I spent 30 or so minutes holding her and telling her how much I loved her and what a joy she has been. I was happy she was purring and looking at me with those beautiful yellow-green eyes. I asked Dr. Hunt how it will happen, to make sure Kat would feel nothing. She explained to me that Kat will feel a little shot in her bottom, but it won't hurt. That shot will make her go to sleep, then they will administer another shot that will shut down her vital organs. Dr. Hunt asked if I wanted to be present, and I adamantly said, "No." I don't want her going to sleep at the hospital to be my last memory. We discussed her remains. Cremation. Yes, we would like her ashes. Dr. Hunt said they would take a clay print of her paw for us. Yes, that would be nice.
I handed our beautiful little girl to Dr. Hunt, knowing that she would make her last few minutes peaceful.
The staff handed me Kat's carrier and her collar (we always called it her 'pretty necklace'). I have it on my arm as I type. They led me out the back door so I wouldn't have to see other pets in the waiting room. That helped. My drive home? I don't remember it. I was in shock. The sun was shining but my world was dark.
Poseidon and I have been grieving, but we are doing well. We were very close to Kat. She was a child to us. The title of my post, "By the Way, How is my Heart?" is a line from John Gorka's song, "I Saw a Stranger With Your Hair." I know many probably want to vomit at his lyrics, but I've always found them soul-lifting. This is the song I had in my head on that short (yet long) drive from the vet's office to our home. I've been singing it ever since. Showers. Washing dishes. Eating lunch. Breathing.
"And by the way how is my heart? I haven't seen it since you left. I'm almost sure it followed you. Could you sometimes send it back? I'll buy the ticket." - John Gorka
We were flying low yesterday (aka biking). The weather was perfect and the trails weren't super busy; however, there was a murder. My bike tire was the weapon.
I accidentally killed a copperhead snake. He was sunning himself on the bike trail. I didn't see him and he didn't see me, until it was too late.
These things bother me. I know copperheads are venomous (though their bite is usually not fatal), but I don't want to be responsible for one's death. I won't even kill roaches. I let Poseidon do that.
The further and faster we rode, the better I began to feel, but still bummed at having taken the poor snake's life.
On our return trip home, we stopped off at our usual watering hole for late lunch/early dinner, beer, and football. Poseidon pushed our bikes together to lock them to the pole, and he said, "Look, our bikes are in love."
He was right! The bikes appeared to be hugging. This cheered me right up and made me say, "Awwwwww." Poseidon has a way of cheering me up and he usually doesn't even know he has.
I snapped a picture of the two-wheeled lovers so I can remember the day.
At 27 feet above sea level, the Yaupon Pier is the tallest in North Carolina. Useless trivia we picked up on our long Labor Day weekend trip to the barrier island of Oak Island in our gorgeous state. By the by, there is a 50 cents/person fee just to walk out on the pier, which caused plenty of eye-rolling on my part, but I suppose it goes toward pier maintenance, so I'll gripe no more.
Poseidon and I wanted to try a beach we've not visited (actually, we did attend a wedding on Oak Island last year, but it was an evening event and we headed out after the reception so that visit doesn't count), and we found a super secluded cottage on Oak Island, a few blocks from the beach.
The trip started off a bit shaky because we arrived late to the rental office to pick up our keys to the beach house because of stupid dumb traffic, but fortunately the Realtor was still in the back office and she had our keys. Poseidon discovered, when we arrived at the cottage, that the water been turned off. Another call to the rental office, and they sent someone over to turn it back on. These things are shruggable in the grand scheme of things, so we did indeed shake them off by opening a beer and taking a fresh oath of alliegience to Pasithea.
The weather was fantastic. The ocean, amazing and welcoming. We were able to slow our pace for the weekend, which is easier said than done for me, recovering from the busy work week we left behind. Being free from routines can feel euphoric. We couldn't have asked for a more perfect respite.
Coincidentally, my bro-in-law's band had a gig Saturday night on Oak Island, so he and my sister drove up from Sunset Beach to hang with us at the beach on Saturday afternoon. We had time for dinner (grouper, I've missed you), then off to see the show. It was ripe for people watching. I'll just say...Black lights. At the venue. We glowed.
Our cute little cottage:
The lonely bag on the beach. Someone finally showed up to claim the poor thing after an hour. I think we heard it crying:
Poseidon, enjoying his book:
A selfie!
Before the band! Under the black lights:
Pictures from the pier before our drive home:
An offer from a stranger to take our picture (the Oak Island lighthouse, visible to our right):
Saturday night, Poseidon and I got our aging rockster on at Cat's Cradle to see an old school local band, The Pressure Boys, playing their second of a 2-night concert benefiting the Be Loud! Sophie Foundation.
I was new to the area during the heyday of The Pressure Boys, but I was a huge fan of their post P-Boys incarnation, Sex Police, in my early 20s. My friends and I traveled all around the Triangle to hear their "loopy" brand of ska during the early 90s, so I was excited to see my first Pressure Boys show Saturday, and I wasn't disappointed.
Poseidon and I attend local shows frequently, and sometimes we find ourselves on the older side of the crowd (but music lovers are music lovers are music lovers). We aren't bothered by this, but last night was a rare treat. We were younger than many (Poseidon and I are pleasantly surprised to see how well we're aging) of our fellow lovers of music, which was super, but I mainly noticed that aging hipsters still love and appreciate their local music, and that powerful observation made the night spectacular!
Old School:
Be Loud! 2014, Saturday (I caught of glimpse of Poseidon and I in this video):
Partnerships dissolve everyday and for many reasons. My reason for initiating the Diet Coke/Amphitrite dissolution? It was simply time...oh, and:
1. Panicky trips made to the store on Saturday mornings when I realize I have no Diet Coke in the house, and I just know the clerks at Kroger are shaking their heads in shame at my addiction, are no longer fun.
2. Poseidon giving me that futile forlorn glance each time I open a can of "Devil Juice" (his pet name for Diet Coke), not to mention the eye-rolling, is no longer fun.
I've been mad at Diet Coke in the past, but never enough to kick it to the curb, completely (there was this one try, but it was half-hearted and I didn't really put in the effort). Honestly, I've been perfectly happy chugging down little cans of chemicals for years without questioning why, but I just decided to stop. Not cold turkey, hell no! I began weaning off Diet Coke two weeks ago. Last week I was down to 1 little baby Diet Coke per day.
Sunday, I had 3 baby Diet Cokes left in the fridge. I drank them all that day, and that was that. I didn't even waste time with a sentimental, "I'm going to miss you old friend" sob fest on can number 3.
Today is day 4, post-dissolution, and I'm not even missing my captor friend, D.C. so I fully trust I won't implode waiting for withdrawal symptoms to pass (I've had none), and I'll move on quickly with little to no scarring. An added benefit: I no longer have to endure emails from Poseidon, laced with links to fake articles about Diet Coke turning to formaldehyde in the body.
Again, partnerships dissolve for a variety of reasons. Sometimes things just don't work out. I lost interest. Keep it real, D.C.
"You can endure anything for 30 seconds!" so said Julia, personal trainer/fit camp instructor/all-around bad-ass. During the summer of 2008, in Nashville, my sister talked me into attending a fitness 'boot camp' that she had just completed and enjoyed. I signed up for the next session. 6:00 am, Monday through Thursday for 4 weeks.
Wednesday of each week was "leg day." Julia took pride in torturing us on leg days. As we held wall squats (this fit camp was outside, so our wall squats were actually fence squats), legs shaking, 2 seconds from buckling, and 5 seconds away from vomiting, Julia liked to yell, "You can do it! Come on! 30 more seconds. You can do anything for 30 seconds!" Turns out, Julia was right. You can endure anything for 30 seconds if you really want to.
Fast forward 6 years to this past Saturday. Julia's 30 second rule was my mantra during our bike trip. You see, there is one particularly steep, nasty hill that has been my Achilles heel on our bike rides. I just cannot make it to the top without getting off and walking my bike. That walk of shame ended Saturday.
As I started the climb, I focused my gaze downward, to the ground just in front of me. I didn't want to see the hill. I wanted to keep the steepness of it out of my mind. I just needed to feel the incline, and switch gears accordingly, and as I did so, I repeated to myself, "You can do anything for 30 seconds." I began counting, "1 and 2 and 3..." At 30, I was in 1st gear and struggling. "See, you can survive anything for 30 seconds!" But damn, I was still only 1/3 of the way up that hill. I started over, "1 and 2 and 3...you can survive anything for 30 seconds. You can do this" I made it to 30, and I didn't die! Wait, double damn. I still haven't reached the top. So, again, I counted to 30. I did it! A minute and a half, and I made it to the top of the hill without having to get off and walk my bike. I made it to the top without dying! I kicked my Achilles heel's ass.
There was no containing my ego after that. I was on fire. Fierce! Poseidon and I stopped off for lunch, then biked around NCSU campus for an hour or so. I took him to the tunnels on campus. My inflated ego decided I could recreate a photo of me from 1996, holding myself up in one of the tunnels. I tried. Poseidon snapped a picture. I wasn't able to get my 2nd arm up without a nagging feeling that a face plant was imminent (I did have my bike helmet on though), so I aborted the mission. My goal, before the end of the summer, is to work on my arm strength and nail that pose from 18 years ago. Not only nail it, but hold it for 30 seconds.
I sent myself an email on March 2, 2012 to remember this song (I'm going through my old emails now, trying to purge correspondence I know longer deem necessary...making nearly no progress). Anyway, Poseidon and I carpooled that day, and we heard this song on WXYC and we fell in love with "Hooty Sapperticker." 1958. He googled the song, and sent me a youtube link. Alas, I cannot find it on itunes or I would download the hell out of it, but I like clicking this link and dancing. Like now.
Yellow. When I was five, I felt some imagined pressure to choose a favorite color. My sister liked red and my little brother liked blue. I had to like something different, right? I mean, I couldn't copy my twin sister. I couldn't copy my brother. I picked yellow because my reading book at school had a picture of a big yellow balloon on the cover. It was in my head. The big yellow balloon.
Yellow has always been my go-to color. "What's your favorite color?" "Yellow." Always my answer. I don't even like yellow.
Somewhere down the road, I must have given that vanilla answer to Poseidon, because he recently mentioned my favorite color being yellow and all, and I told him I hate yellow. He was appalled. How could I lie to him about my favorite color? I tried explaining that it wasn't really a lie. Declaring yellow as my favorite color was a by default situation, and now it's simply a habit I'm unwilling or unable to break, and not a lie.
Poseidon has become an advocate for pangolins. For 2 years, I've searched the interwebz for pangolin "stuff." This year, I found something. A pangolin Christmas tree ornament. Doesn't everyone have a Christmas pangolin? This little dude makes us smile!
