Microblog Mondays: My Furbaby is Not Long for This World...

Our dear Mel over at Stirrup Queens has begun a blog phenomenon... as she frequently does. 

Microblog Mondays. Writing in your own space. Something short and sweet. But it's meant to take back our bloggy space and call it our own. I am going to try to do this periodically. Life's hectic. So we'll see how long this lasts.
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I do not know what to write. 

My heart aches. 

In January 2014 I wrote about the heartbreaking loss we'd suffered. My then 18-year old cat, Shadow, passed away in my arms the day we returned from a family vacation. 

Now, a year and a half later, Shadow's brother, 19-year old Smudge (he would be 20 on August 25), is in pain and he is showing me signs that he is ready to go play with Shadow and the catnip mice in the sky. 

I cannot put him through any more pain. I hate to see him struggle to jump or walk, and his legs tremble as he tries valiantly to go to the washroom. Poor baby boy. It's not fair. 

I've had my boys longer than I've known Hubby. It was my boys who showed Petite how to treat animals... kindly, gentle, with the utmost of care and respect. And it is because I love him so much that today I made the dreaded phone call to have a vet come later this week for an in-home euthanasia. It will tear me up inside. But I need to do this. For him. I cannot prolong his pain and suffering for my own benefit. Nope. Not fair. 

Big Boy 'Mudgers, I love you. I always will. Mommy will see you again and rub that white spot on your belly, nuzzling you softly. I promise. 

October 2008; enjoying the sunshine

August 2009: Rub my white spot Mommy!

August 2014; between Mommy's legs for the night!

October 2014; loving the catmint!

January 2015; snuggling in bed with Petite for the FIRST time!

Microblog Mondays: Grief and more grief. When does it end?

Our dear Mel over at Stirrup Queens has begun a blog phenomenon... as she frequently does. 

Microblog Mondays. Writing in your own space. Something short and sweet. But it's meant to take back our bloggy space and call it our own. I am going to try to do this periodically. Life's hectic. So we'll see how long this lasts.
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Okay, okay, a day late and a dollar short. Sheesh. Shoot me.

 

We've been tied up with a number of things. Easter. An impromptu and definitely flying visit to The Big Apple with Petite to meet a gaming friend from Singapore. Visiting with friends from Toronto. Taking in a Sugar Bush meal (albeit somewhat restricted on my part). And the general rounds of sickness in the house. Ugh.

 

And deaths.

 

Again.

 

Note that I said "deaths" as in plural. Oh my.

 

 

Last week two people in my circles passed away.

 

I sing in a church choir. One of our choir member's wife was diagnosed months ago with an aggressive cancer. Treatments didn't keep it at bay and last week, the choir was told that she was rapidly declining... but that when the time came, they both wished the choir to sing at her funeral. She passed away on Monday, March 30. She was a lovely lady and very active in our church family. The service was held on Monday, April 6 and because Easter Monday is a holiday for me, I was able to attend and sing with the choir. It was a beautiful service and she would have really loved it. Rest in peace, Anne.

 

On Wednesday, April 1, I got a phone call from a former co-worker (a different location within our organization). I used to work with the group from 2010–13. She told me that one of the employees had committed suicide overnight onTuesday, March 31. I was in shock. This fellow was young (early 50s perhaps). Bright. Intelligent. Caring. A broad smile and a gentle nature, despite a physique that made him look like the roughest, toughest bouncer you could come across. He would sit in my office and chat about his cat (how he loved animals!) and his eyes would sparkle. He was a giving, sweet man, and I cannot fathom that he took his own life. The whole family in the branch he worked with is grieving; he was part of a small, skilled, elite team of counter intelligence and his presence will definitely be missed. We are all grieving. Today, April 7, I attend his funeral and I know many tears will be shed at this senseless loss. My heart goes out to his family and all his colleagues and friends. May he find the peace in death that he so sought in life. We love you Morgan. Good-bye dear friend.

Microblog Mondays: Mental Health

Our dear Mel over at Stirrup Queens has begun a blog phenomenon... as she frequently does. 

Microblog Mondays. Writing in your own space. Something short and sweet. But it's meant to take back our bloggy space and call it our own. I am going to try to do this periodically. Life's hectic. So we'll see how long this lasts.

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I cannot possibly fathom writing about anything else this week. For ever since last Wednesday, February 4, my world has been shaken and forever changed.

It was an ordinary day. I went to work. I went to the gym; I ran 3.4 miles on the treadmill too! I picked up Petite after school. We went home. Hubby was working late so I took care of dinner, Petite's bath and getting her bedtime routine going. Hubby came home around 9:30, just as I was rousing from a little doze with Petite as she loves a cuddle with us before bed. (I think I fell asleep before she did though!)

And as I was waking and getting up and out of Petite's room, I got a Facebook PM. It was a group PM between me, Hubby and it was coming from our dear friend, MM. 

MM and her husband, RM, have been friends of ours for YEARS. RM and Hubby knew each other before Hubby and I met in 2000. They've been friends for about 18 years. And when RM met his wife-to-be, we were introduced and got along like a house afire. They're a wonderful couple. We saw them more frequently before Petite was born, but even after her arrival, we always kept in touch and we arranged to get together every few months, as schedules would permit. 

RM was a teacher. Graphic Web Design at a local college. He was well-loved and respected by peers and students. He was funny, very quick witted indeed. And one of the most intelligent men I knew. I admired him. Respected him greatly. He shared good news and bad with us over the years. 

But the Facebook message from his wife shook me to the core. RM passed away earlier on Wednesday afternoon at the age of 46. WHAT? How could that be?! My brain didn't compute that at all. Not possible. It's just not possible. It must be a joke. 

Hubby walked in the door, mouth agape (much as mine was) and I said, "We need to call her. Now. This has GOT to be a joke... He's suck a jokester. Someone must have gotten their hands on his account or hers or something. This isn't real..." 

We called MM, who was in shock, and tears. 

She had come home early as she had known RM was a little down about a medical issue. She found that he had committed suicide. She found her husband; he had hanged himself. She was alone. She was the one who had to call 911, cut him down, give him chest compressions, the whole nine yards. 

No one should ever have to do that to a loved one. Ever. She has that image in her head forever. With luck it will be replaced by happy thoughts in time, but for now, she is grieving. We are in shock. We are preparing to attend his funeral later this week but there are no words to describe how we feel. 

Talk to your loved ones. Talk to professionals. Open up about mental health issues. Because no one should ever feel at wits' end so as to make this choice to end it all. Too many people love you. Yes YOU. You are loved. Deeply. Please don't make this drastic choice. I beg. 

RM, we can but hope you find the peace you so desperately sought. But you will be sorely missed. Life will not be the same without you. We love you. 

Microblog Mondays: Resolutions

Our dear Mel over at Stirrup Queens has begun a blog phenomenon... as she frequently does. 

Microblog Mondays. Writing in your own space. Something short and sweet. But it's meant to take back our bloggy space and call it our own. I am going to try to do this periodically. Life's hectic. So we'll see how long this lasts.

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As the new year is almost upon us, and as we are wont to do as the old year comes to a close, many of us are making resolutions for 2015.

Thanks to WLS this past February, I have achieved my resolution for this year: lose 100 lbs before Christmas. In fact, I have lost 120 lbs (or just beyond that in fact) since January 2014. I am thrilled about that. How many years has my resolution been "lose weight" and this year, with the help of a fantastic tool, I have done it! Quite an achievement really. Hard work, to be sure. Most days, I don't see it at all. I'm glad others do. (I put on a size 10 bathing suit last night and wow, I was shocked!) 

My resolutions for 2015:

• finish losing the weight, and find a 'target' or 'goal' weight that I am happy with. Having no frame of reference for that makes this one tough. I've grappled with it. I still am.
• find peace on the job and home front. I've been living in limbo for years, hoping to find work back at home, and wishing I were elsewhere. I need to resolve this, one way or the other, this year. Either I get the job I have applied for back in NL, or I take a deep breath and find peace with living where I currently do, and make a home for us here. (Notice that I still call The Rock "home"? This is starting to confuse Petite. She has asked me many times why our house here is not "home." Poor girl. I need to focus on her and her life now.)

Thank you for your well wishes on my last post. Christmas was good with my family down in WV at my sister's house. A long drive, to be sure, but well worth it. We had fun and the two kids had a blast. While there, we raised a glass to my eldest cousin; he passed away on December 12, 2014 at the young age of 58. My heart goes out to my uncle; no parent should ever have to bury their child, no matter the age.

Microblog Mondays: RIP to my MIL

Our dear Mel over at Stirrup Queens has begun a blog phenomenon... as she frequently does. 

Microblog Mondays. Writing in your own space. Something short and sweet. But it's meant to take back our bloggy space and call it our own. I am going to try to do this periodically. Life's hectic. So we'll see how long this lasts.

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A sad, and very difficult week in our house.

My MIL passed away last Monday afternoon, in the presence of her husband, her sister, one of her daughters, Hubby, and me.

She retired a few years ago, and had lost a significant amount of weight; I knew something was wrong but she was never fully tested. This past summer, they found a tumor and it was surgically removed, but no follow-up chemo or radiation was forthcoming. (We later found that it had been offered to her, but she turned it down. We question now whether she realized the ramifications of that particular decision. She was suffering from dementia on and off during this time because of the tumor.)

Post-op, she came home and was doing fairly well, but just before our Thanksgiving in early October, she took another turn for the worse and things went rapidly downhill from there. She was in the ICU and then transferred to a hospice. We did not expect her to live to see her 67th birthday on November 20. But she made it. She had asked Hubby for a piece of KFC and a Tim Horton's coffee a couple of days before her birthday and she enjoyed what she could eat of that... (translation: very little of either, but at least it was something).

On Monday past, November 24, 2014, my MIL's husband and a couple of the kids were to meet with the doctors at 3 p.m. to discuss her care and next steps. But that morning, Hubby's youngest sister called to verify that the meeting was still on and she was told, "Your mom's breathing has changed. Someone might want to get here sooner than 3 p.m." Hubby called me around 11:45. As soon as he told me that, I knew. You see, I've been down this road before. I knew exactly what the nurses were telling the family.

I told Hubby, "Hang up the phone. March straight to your boss' office and tell him it's an emergency. You need to leave RIGHT NOW. I will meet you there. Go." I did that as well, and I met him just before 1 p.m. at the doors to the hospice. We had barely over an hour with her; she took her last breath at 2:19 p.m. and amid tears, grief, love and pain, we said our goodbyes. Hubby and I left soon thereafter to get his youngest sister at home, and I stayed with the three young children so that his sis could go to the hospice with him. I called the funeral home and started the ball rolling from the home base. And it's been a whirlwind of a week since.

RIP Nicole. You are loved more than you can know and you will truly, truly be missed.

Our huge thanks to our friends and family who came to the celebration of her life this past Saturday; even our dear friends from Toronto (Pam and V) made the trek and we are ever so grateful. Seeing so many people there to pay their respects made it a little easier to say goodbye.

P.S. Thank you all for your sweet comments, e-mails, and thoughts on my last post about the weight loss and the negative comment I had received. You are all so very kind and I am grateful for your understanding and for your outpouring of love. (What a wonderful virtual world this is.)

Heartbreaking Loss in January 2014

So while we wait for the outcome of the Ontario election to be determined.

You see, the NDP did not support the Liberal budget throwing things in disarray and forcing an election in mid-June. To date, only the Liberal platform specifies the inclusion of IVF. The NDP have waffled on the matter, and the PCs will not support it. Guess where my vote is going? D'uh. No brainer, huh?

Anyway, back to my blog.

At one point a few posts back, I briefly mentioned the huge loss we had suffered.

For those of you who are not animal lovers, fair enough. But I ask that you respect my particular feelings on the topic.

My fur babies.

Smudge and Shadow, Newfoundland, Christmas 1997

Smudge and Shadow. Brothers, from the same litter. Born in Japan in 1995, on August 25, they came into my life 7 weeks later as tiny, miniature, black balls of curious fuzz. And I doted on them.

Page-A-Day Calendar, 1997

My boys were inseparable. I almost named them Hook and Sook. Hook would have been Smudge; he has the physical trait of the kink at the tip of his tail that is frequently seen in purebred Himalayans (as his mother was. Gosh she was gorgeous. Long, white-haired, docile thing. A beautiful animal.). Shadow would have been Sook; so named because he FOLLOWED ME EVERYWHERE! To the kitchen. To the bathroom. If I sat down, he'd be in my lap. If I lay down, he'd be sleeping on me. When I gamed on the computer for hours into the late night, he found a way to adapt to the formation of my forearms and lay there as I moused and typed.

while pregnant with Petite, Shadow sleeping with me, February 2009

Hook and Sook became Smudge and Shadow. Smudge because of the white smudge on his lower belly; gosh he loves to have that rubbed and nuzzled! He's so affectionate. Shadow because he was my shadow. After all, he truly did follow me everywhere.

They loved the occasional bit of ham or tuna. They were inseparable. They slept together, groomed together, played together, traipsed around the house together, followed me together, and spent about 95% of their waking hours in each other's company. They were joined at the hip, as it were.

Smudge and Shadow, 2008

Shadow was my delicate kitty. Sweet. A little hesitant and fearful. But oh so affectionate! In his younger years he would jump into my arms from the floor. He did that to Hubby the first time Hubby came to our house and it shocked the heck out of both of them! Hubby to see a cat fly up to his mid-chest. and Shadow to realize that Hubby wouldn't catch him in time and he dropped back to the ground! I knew then and there that Hubby was a good guy and would fit into our life. If the cats like you, you're good by me.

Shadow 2009

Both boys, being of advanced age, and having no real other physical issues, began to show signs of kidney failure about two years ago at age 16. We've been managing their symptoms ever since. They continued to eat and drink well, but we gave them medicine to combat the kidney failure, and in the last year or so, a once-a-month B12 injection. But in the last five or six months, they began to vomit.

Well, Shadow began to vomit. And so it progressed. Just around Christmas 2013, I began to see slight traces of blood in his vomit. He must have been hurting so. Poor baby. He was still active though, so I didn't do anything about it.

Shadow and Smudge

In January, the day we left on our vacation, Hubby was in the car with Petite, bags packed, and I was locking the door. I had said goodbye to the boys (our dear neighbour Marc watches them when we are away; he's such a godsend) and turned to head out. At that moment, Shadow began to vomit again. And this time, as it had been once or twice earlier that week, it was a fair bit of dark reddish vomit. Blood. My heart was so heavy. But for a cat at 18 years of age, there are no heroics that will give him the quality of life he used to have. I couldn't put him through that. I stopped, wiped up the vomit, kissed him again and left to join the others in the car. We went on with our holiday.

During our vacation, Marc kept us updated. Three days before we were due to come home, Hubby got a text from Marc. Shadow was not coming to eat. Marc looked around for him, and found him in our bedroom closet, lying in a laundry basket on some of our clothing. He coaxed him out, and got him to eat a little, but he told us it didn't look good. Hubby and I were out at dinner with our friends when that text arrived, and we told Marc that there was nothing he could do, but to please keep us updated.

That was Thursday evening.

Shadow playing with a catnip toy, 2013

Saturday, two days later, we arrived back at home around 2 p.m. When Shadow did not meet us at the door, I knew it couldn't be good. Smudge was there, to-ing and fro-ing on our legs and suitcases, but Shadow didn't make a sound. I called him. Twice. Three times. And then I heard him coming slowly out of the bedroom to greet us. He looked frail. Eyes a bit glassy. Tired. I picked him up and he was already a bit cool to the touch, as compared to his brother. I cuddled him close. I brought him to the kitchen, hoping to give him some tuna and water, which he usually loves to drink, and coax him to have a little. No way. He wouldn't have anything to do with it. I put him down. and watched in horror as I realized he couldn't control his back legs any longer. He managed to walk. swaying a little on his legs, back and forth, and he returned to the bedroom and curl in the laundry basket again. I checked on him. And at that moment, I cried.

I called our vet, but they were closed of course (it was a Saturday after all) and as I had told them, there was no point in heroics. I would not put Shadow through that. I had loved him for all 18 years of his life and I could not put him in pain or subject him to invasive poking and prodding. He didn't belong in a vet's office, on a cold, steel table. He belonged with me. He knew I was home and I needed to be with him.

Shadow, summer 2013

I resolved to leave the luggage until time permitted me to handle the unpacking. Hubby took care of our daughter. I focussed exclusively on spending as much time curled with my fur baby, the cats ensconced in the bed with me or alternatively, me next to him in the closet, for the rest of the afternoon. He couldn't jump onto the bed although he came to the side of it and managed to put his forepaws on the covers, so I brought him up there and he curled in my lap a little, letting me snuggle with him. There, I tried to say my goodbyes. Or. to start to. Shadow snuggled with his brother, for what would be the last time. When he was done, he got up and tried to jump off the bed, but he couldn't do it himself, so I helped him. He got to the laundry basket in our closet again, and lay there, partially on the floor, head and upper body in the tipped up basket, surrounded by our clothing. He loved the softness of my pyjama pants; I'm glad they were there for him.

After about 15 or 20 minutes, he got up and came out. He meowed loudly a few times. I petted him, trying to soothe him. He was visibly agitated. He got in and out of the closet twice, and then I called Hubby to come to us. Petite was in bed by this time, so it was just me, Hubby and the two cats; Smudge on the bed, Shadow in the closet. Hubby moved things aside and sat with him in the closet a few moments, until about five or ten minutes later, when Shadow's breathing changed. It got raspy, ragged. Deep breaths followed by long pauses. I knew it was time. I said, "Do I need to be there?" and Hubby replied, "Yes. Yes you do."

Shadow and me, taking a nap, 2010

I got down with him, sitting beside him. The tears came. I stroked his silky, soft, shiny fur. I whispered to him, "It's okay Baby Shad. It's okay sweetheart. It's okay. You can go if you need to. I love you. I've always loved you. I know you have to go, and it's okay. It's okay." I think I repeated those phrases a hundred times; I think I was trying to convince myself that it was okay to let him go at that point.

His breathing got increasingly shallow, and he lifted his head one last time. I stroked his cheek. Stroked his nose and back down his head, smoothing his fur. My hands were on him at all times. I asked Hubby to get a towel for me and I draped it over my shoulder to pick him up and hold him in a position that he used to love. He was almost gone. and I needed to cuddle him.

I did just that. I held him in my arms as he took his last few breaths and slipped away. He had to go, and I had to let him.

And as he went, my heart broke. My Baby Shad was gone.

Shadow relaxing in the sun on his kitty perch, a favourite spot

After about half an hour, I lowered my baby Shadow and the towel into my lap to curl him there. I sat with him for about two hours. I couldn't bear to tear myself away. We righted the laundry basket and placed him, towel and all, in there for the night. I couldn't bear to have him far from me just yet. It would take time.

Shadow died on January 25, 2014, just after 11 p.m. surrounded by all the love I had to give. He had given me so much over the years. My boys were my constant companions. Through thick and thin, they had given me unconditional love and I returned it to them as good as they gave.

Something tells me he waited for us. He knew he was going to have to leave us, but he waited for us to get home. When we arrived home earlier that afternoon, when he heard our voices, sniffed our scents, curled in my arms, he knew. He just knew he could finally let go. And I will be eternally glad that he waited for me.

Smudge and Shadow 2005

I found a wonderful, caring, compassionate pet bereavement centre who helped me make arrangements. I have Shadow's ashes in an urn, and when the time comes, his brother's ashes shall join his. The two shall be together again someday; it's only right. My boys have always been together. I take comfort in knowing that part of me went with him. As a family, we all made contributions to a keepsake envelope that was cremated with Shadow, and I tucked in one of the grey, felt, catnip mice that Aunt B (who passed away a year and a half ago now) made for the cats. Shadow loved his catnip! Aunt B loved my boys too and I know she will take care of Shadow until I get to see him and cuddle him again.

Last photo of Smudge and Shadow together, January 25, 2014

Rest now dear Shadow. You gave me so much. I am grateful you waited for me to be there. But I know it was time. I love you my sweet Boo. I will see you again and so will your brother.  I promise. Go play in the sun my boy. You deserve the rest. I love you.

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When the time is right, I will get a tattoo to commemorate my boys. I have wanted it for years and after Shadow was gone, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Now that I have a design in mind, when all is said and done, I will get that tattoo. It will be exactly what I need. I look forward to it, and I'll certainly show it off when it's done. 

Thank you for reading. If you have pets, hug them tightly on my behalf, and tell them how much they are loved. 

November 6, 1934 — July 29, 2012

At precisely 3:15 a.m., I woke from a sound sleep with a jolt. Within moments, I knew. I just KNEW.

She was gone.

I started to cry silently, quietly to myself. I didn't know what to do, or whom to contact if anyone, at that hour. I just cried, my back to Hubby, as silently as possible, so as not to wake him or Petite.

I didn't sleep much after that. I just waited. And I went through oodles of tissues. I got the confirmation by e-mail from my cousin's wife first. It was a brief message of condolence at my aunt's passing during the night. I was relieved to have some confirmation of my suspicions, because by the time that e-mail arrived, I had been waiting for a number of hours.

That e-mail was quickly followed by a phone call. And then another. And then a third. I heard what I needed to hear. It was over. My cherished aunt had slipped this mortal coil. Quietly. With dignity. In the presence of her youngest sister and my father. At precisely 4:45 a.m. in Newfoundland (or 3:15 for me in Ontario), six weeks of tears and disbelief culminated in my sweet aunt's passing.

I like to think that she came to wake me, passing through to say goodbye one last time. There has been so much that occurred in the month since. I will write about it later when I can gather my thoughts. I've been scattered and I still burst into tears at the smallest things that trigger loving memories.

I refuse to say goodbye. So I will say until we meet again, Aunt B. Know how very much you are loved. And your words and actions have shown over the years how much you loved us.