UGH

 You know, one day I will eventually have something good and fun and interesting to post about. 

But it is not this day.

You know, I actually wrote the story with all of the details and asides, and meandering facts, but I just don't have the heart to publish it. It was sad, and personally traumatizing, and although I'd like to talk about it, it just...sucks. So I will sum it up.

Basically, the three dogs that live next door from us attacked the stray cat we've been taking care of. Hell, I say we were taking care of the cat, but she was basically our cat. She came inside all of the time, and Steve had been sleeping in the living room with her, because he was afraid the coyotes that sometimes show up in our neighborhood at night would kill her. Steve wanted to formally adopt her and let her live inside, and I made a fuss about it because I didn't want an animal pooping in our house, so we had put off the decision until we could think about it a bit more. Nevertheless, I loved the cat. I wanted her to be happy and safe.

There is a weak spot in the neighbor's chain link fence and the dogs got out. I didn't know what was going on, except that I saw the dogs in our backyard, so I ran out to get them back in their own yard and I heard a commotion. One of the dogs, a pit bull (who seemed to be the sweetest of the three dogs when we met them) had approached some people walking in the street. They were yelling, and the girl who the dog belonged to was crying, and it was all very confusing. As I was going back home, I heard the neighbor say "They attacked this cat" and I immediately worried that it was Simba. I went over there and she was all bloody and messy and still alive. It was awful. When I saw it was her, I started crying (in front of strangers, which I hate to do) but they got a box for her and told me to take her to the emergency vet.  They called the cops, even, because Animal Control doesn't work on Sundays. It was very surreal.

I called Steve (who was at church. I wasn't feeling well that morning and I stayed home.) and told him to meet me there. The people helped me get Simba into the car, and I drove a bloody, hurt cat making terrible sounds to the emergency vet. It was horrible. I was crying and telling her that I was sorry, and I couldn't even pet her because I was driving and didn't know where she was hurt.

They took her back immediately, but said she had spinal injuries that would seriously make her quality of life awful, so Steve and I decided to do the humane thing. We got to see her and pet her and be with her while they put her down. It was awful.

So now the cat is gone. We loved her. I keep tearing up thinking about her on the table at the vet's office. She made the saddest sounds. They keep echoing in my head. I hope she knew how much we cared about her. She didn't deserve that.

FIVE MONTHS

It's been a little over five months since Sara died. It feels weird to even type that sentence, but life has been weird all summer, hasn't it? 

I thought that, when my oldest friend passed away, that I'd feel very different than I actually have. Grief is a weird thing and it is different for every person and in every situation, but I don't think I really understood that until the past few years.  When my dad died, I felt like someone had punched a hole in my chest that wouldn't heal. It was a physical feeling, not just an emotional one. I'd forget to breathe sometimes and find myself randomly gasping for air. It was like being buried under heavy rocks all of the time. What happened in the following year didn't help that feeling in the least, so that's what I thought grief was supposed to feel like for everything.

Of course, then in 2018 I lost four people I liked a great deal, one right after another, and found that real, honest grief comes in various colors and flavors (none of them good) but all of them very particular to each person. Because of that, you can never be quite prepared for how you'll feel.

See, the thing is, I knew Sara was dying. I knew she was that sick. She had gone for treatments for her problems in late February and found out that she would need another transplant if she was going to recover and that she wasn't going to do it. I still thought we'd have way more time. Kind of like those scenes in the movie "Beaches" (hehe, don't judge me) where you'd get those chances to see each other, and  get used to the idea that the end was near. We didn't get that, of course. She got an infection and that was that. She passed away, alone, and in another state. I didn't even get to say goodbye.

I expected to feel that hole in the chest feeling again, but it didn't come. I sometimes struggle with that, because I feel like that should have been the more appropriate feeling. She was a Soul Friend, and honestly, you don't get many of those in a lifetime. I had four of them (now three) and the thought of being without any of them has always made me feel afraid and panicky. I thought that it would be a time of black depression and sadness, and maybe in a world where we weren't dealing with COVID-19 and quarantined all of the bullshit that has gone along with it, that would have been the case. Instead, it's been like pain from a thousand paper cuts. 

Sometimes I forget she's gone. I see something and I want to tell her about it, or something happens that I want to update her on and I realize I can't. I'll go to a restaurant and think "Oh, Sara and I need to go there" or I'll want to complain about something. She was the only one who knew all of my secrets, and I'll want to talk about something to do with those, but I can't. Even this morning, I was looking at make-up online and saw eyebrow makeup for red-heads (Sara fought the eyebrow battle until the day she died) and wanted to send it to her, but of course, I couldn't. Then I think of the things that I didn't do, or couldn't do, or should have done or said, and it's just a constant reminder that I'm powerless about it. 

It's the little things like that that make it hard.

But having said all of that, I'm kind getting to the point where I am ok with it all. Sara was my best friend, and I'll always miss her every day. I'm not ok with her death, obviously, but I'm ok with feeling the sadness. When you lose someone you love they leave a hole. You can fill that hole with pain and anger, you can fill it with all kinds of things that you can use to try and make you forget, or you can fill that hole with good memories and love and gladness that you knew them. Even with the pain, I'm trying mightily to fill it when the latter. 

And that's all I have to say about that.

STILL...ALIVE...

Ten points if you know where the title of this blog entry came from!

WARNING: Rambling Ahead. 

Yes, I'm still kicking, and no, nothing interesting has been happening. At least I don't think so. It's kind of weird, but I have the WORST memory right now. I don't know if it's because so many days are the same, too much Sweet and Low, or if my brain is finally catching up to my age. At any rate, if anything interesting has happened, it wasn't interesting enough to remember.  

I haven't known what to do with myself, lately. I feel like everything is still on hold. I suppose that's really is what is going on. The world hasn't gotten back to normal yet and I am heartily tired of it!

Let's see...I went to the doctor the other day. Finally. I used to go three or four times a year, but my current GP only sees me once a year. In some ways that's rad, because I don't particularly like going to the doctor, but in other ways it kind of sucks because a year is a long time not to know if your blood work is right or whatever. Granted, I know I could make an appointment if something was wrong, but what if it's something I don't notice? How do you know if your cholesterol is bad, or something like that? Eh, well, I guess that's the price you pay not to have to be arsed to go to the doctor more than you want to.

I like my doctor a lot. I met him last year. He's a bit younger than me, quite nice, and funny. He is one of those people that I immediately felt comfortable around when I met him, which is both rare and cool. He came into the exam room wearing a Batman print mask. I made a comment and he said he normally has some Harry Potter masks that he wears, but he'd forgotten them at home and had to wear that one as a backup.  Of course I asked him if he was a Harry Potter fan, in which he demurred and said that he wasn't a huge fan. So I pressed him about whether or not he knew his Hogwarts house. He was a Griffindor. Of course he was. 

Look, I know knowing your Hogwarts house seems like a silly thing, and it means nothing, but I love it when people have enough of a sense of humor to enjoy silly things like that. Especially adults. If you're reading this and don't know your house, please go to Pottermore and find out! It brings me joy. (Of course, I'm a Slytherin, so what do I know? Haha!) ;)

Since my appointment was a wellness check, he and I talked about a lot of stuff. I told him about the panic attacks (he didn't seem worried, but did refill my emergency meds) and I told him about my back. That he seemed worried about. Mainly because I'm so limited as to what I can do because of it. I can't run anymore, I can't comfortably ride a bike, and hell, I can't even do yoga anymore without having to sleep on an ice pack. He told me I could probably swim for exercise, which would be great if I could swim. He told me I could have ...and I don't know what it was...radicular something or other. The only reason I remember that much is because I thought he said I had a ridiculous something or other. I mean, maybe whatever it is is ridiculous, but it still hurts. Other than that, there were just a few things I need to work on. My weight, my cholesterol, my blood sugar levels. The usual. They took a lot of blood for some other tests, but I guess they all came back fine because they didn't contact me again.

Ya know what? I just realized I talked, at length, about a doctor's appointment. I really am turning into an old person! But really, it's been the highlight of the last two months! What else can I talk about?

One day we will get to to stuff again and I'll have new stories and adventures. One day! Don't give up on me!