Saturday, August 20, 2005
The night is still, except for the occasional singing of the crickets outside the library window. The air is heavy, as if the day's rain had given no release to the water laden clouds in the night sky. The orange moon rises, glowing through the heated haze of the evening.
And my poetic writing streak is done for the night.
We went to an auction today. What a circus! It was so sad, and yet so amusing. The estates of two sisters were being auctioned off, and the family wasn't happy. The situation sounded like something off of a soap opera. The sisters apparently committed suicide at the same time, with an overdose of tylenol. Their estates were left to a friend that no one had ever heard of or met. The friend wouldn't let the family know when the funerals were, and refused to let any of the family buy any keepsakes prior to the auction. The family was at the auction, trying to buy the things with sentimental value back. My heart was hurting for the family. Aaron, of course, takes the logical view, that if the family wanted items, the best way to deal with it was indeed the auction, so that they could buy what they wanted. I don't know. I hope that when I die, people don't fight about my THINGS, and instead, cherish the memories of the TIME we spent together. Things can be replaced, time cannot.
While we were at the auction, I got to see a wonderful side of my child. I was on the phone with my beloved sister in law, who was sharing some very painful things with me, and we were both crying on the phone. Ethan, who was playing with bubbles at my feet (Nicole, those bubbles fit sooo nicely into my purse!) noticed that I was crying, and he started kissing me. He kept saying, "It's ok Mommy, it's ok." And you know what, he was right. It is ok. Even though there are so many things going on right now that make me want to bang my head against a wall until I can't think any more, Ethan's right. It's ok. I thanked him for his love and told him that mommy's heart was sad, but that I would be ok in a few minutes. He gave me his water, and told me to drink some of it, that it would make me feel better. One part of me feels bad that I subjected my child to my grief, but the other part of me says, "How awesome that my three year old can feel such compassion."
Relationship advice of the day: Don't be afraid to reach out and say, "It's ok," or even, "I don't know what to say, but I'm here to listen." I think, even with those we love the most, we forget to share the burdens, whether it's by reaching out when we're in pain, or reaching out when we see that someone is in pain.
Even as I write this, knowing that "it's ok," I still have a heavy heart. I am pretty sure that this month's round of fertility treatments didn't work, but Aaron is still holding out hope. I'm upset about a situation within my family, and don't know how to pray about it. I haven't finished my year plan for school, or my welcome letter. I am short tempered and grouchy to those around me, mainly because they are convenient. I feel that darkness beginning to seep into my soul.
So, instead of giving in to the darkness, I'm going to take my own advice, and focus on something other than myself. I think I'll go read my nice, light, fluffy book about a cat. I love cats. I am such a cat person. Don't get me wrong, I like dogs too, someday I hope to have one. But cats, well, either you love them, or you don't. I've noticed there aren't many ambivalent people when it comes to cats. My pastor hates cats, and gives me a hard time about my two cats. (We used to have three, but Lenny died last week.... a brief moment of silence for the nicest cat ever). .........
Cecilia is a cat of cats. She's a 10 year old tubby tortiseshell cat, with a split face. One half is black and the other is cream. It's split right down the middle and tends to shock people the first time they see her. She's fairly antisocial, and only likes me. Specifically, she likes my hair. Cici's favorite thing to do is to bury her nose in my hair and knead my head. Sometimes she gets a little overzealous, and I have small punctures in my scalp. Sometimes, she drools a bit, and my hair is a bit slimy. But it's worth it to have her warm body wrapped around my head, and her purr sending me off to sleep, or relaxing me.
Then there's Carl, the other half of Lenny. Get it? Lenny and Carl, from the Simpsons? Carl has always been a bit standoffish, and for lack of a better term, a bit spacy. Let's put it this way... if mischief had been done, either Lenny put Carl up to it, or Carl did it without meaning to. Right now he's sitting in my favorite chair, staring at something on my bay window. I have no idea what it is, since there are only 4 plants on the windowsill, nothing of any great interest. Anyhow, since Lenny's death, Carl has been a bit odd. For example, the only time you used to see Carl was when you climbed in bed. Then he magically appeared, to head butt your hand with his cold wet nose. Lately, though, he's been showing up when I'm watching tv, or folding laundry, and he's been rubbing against me, not just head butting me. He seems to be seeking out company and affection, which lets me know that he really misses Lenny. I might try to take a page from Carl's book-- even when you've lost the closest thing to you, you have to go on living, and just keep reaching out whenever you can. What a smart cat. Did I say he was spacy? Hmmm... better rethink that.
Ok. Off to see what's on tivo. Time to make a cuppa tea. Time to relax and read that fluffy cat book. Maybe Cici will sit on my head and Carl will headbutt my hand....