• 09Mar

    Just moments ago, I realized today’s date. It’s funny what your emotions remember when your brain tries to forget pain.

    It’s been a decade.

    I still miss you very much.

    Daddy, you are loved.

    Now, I know why I woke up with tear-stained cheeks.

    This post comes to you from atop the 3’x5′ oak desk that was in his school office. It comes complete with his handwritten phone list taped to one of the slide-out trays and the holes on top where he mounted the phone so people couldn’t turn it around when they used it (because they never put it back where it “belonged”). It’s full of his spirit and his love and I’m quite grateful to be using it again.
    Permalink Filed under: family S, Lori Tags: No Comments
  • 15Dec

    Today was terribly difficult…one of the worst of my life as Sosta traveled over the Rainbow Bridge. [1]

    I took Sosta to the vet with the hope (but not expectation) that they would have a way to make her more comfortable while she lived her last few days with us. From a visual and physical inspection—and coupled with her medical history—the vet found her to be in liver failure as well as probable kidney failure. Coupled with the terminal cancer, there were no viable treatment or even management options. Every option available was “kitty hospice” feeding tubes, hydration by injection, and other horrible treatments. I called Emil and we agreed that keeping her with us for even another day or two would just be more discomfort for her. Truthfully, it would have meant more agony for us, too. We’d already watched her decline severely over the last three days.

    There was no spark or twinkle left in her eyes. She still recognized, marked, loved, and appreciated us. She could barely muster a purr. Watching her force her breathing a little gave us a sign of what was to come.

    Emil left work a little early and met me at the clinic. Together, we made the difficult and painful decision to say goodbye. We had a very long and touching time with her before she cross over. I know that her last moments and memories were with and of us.

    We thanked her for being the most amazing cat ever and for all she’d done for me and for us. We asked her to tell her sister, Mitad, and her Grandpapa, Larry, that we love them, too. They were the best of friends to us and to one another.

    When we came home with an empty carrier, Purrrrrl immediately sniffed all around looking for her sister. Though I had tried to facilitate a goodbye moment between them just in case, Purrrrrl was still expecting Sosta to come home. I had forgotten that part of Mitad’s death ~18 months ago. Sosta cried literal tears down her cheeks when Mitad didn’t come back home with us. I guess they each knew the other was not well, but were not hit with the realization until home had one less nose to count.[2]

    Life isn’t fucking fair. Again, I say, if any creature deserves to live one more moment on this planet, it is her—-far above and beyond anyone I’ve ever met. Her love was pure and her heart was genuine. She never ever caused any harm to anyone else. She deserved more than 14+ years of life. I deserve more than 13+years with her in my life. Only the good die young.

    Sosta, we will always love and honor you. You were the most amazing cat I’ve ever known and the most gentle and caring creature on Earth.

    [1] The Rainbow Bridge symbolizes a pet crossing over into your/their version of Heaven. Personally, Heaven would not be complete for me without Sosta (and Mitad, Valvet, Gypsy, Ladd, and Randi Cae). I like non-human members of my family more than I like most people. It wouldn’t be Heaven for me unless they were all there.

    [2] Gypsy was the best about this and would have been a fabulous pack leader. She wanted everyone to be at home when it was time for bed. She’d walk from my dad to my mom to me. If we were all there, she’d snuggle down ready to sleep. If any one of us was out late (Daddy was a basketball coach, Mom went to educational conferences, I had sleepovers), she would walk from one of us to the other and then wander the house looking for the third human-member of the family. Mom gave it the nickname, “counting noses”. She really did want all of us at home, together.