Grief

“There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.”
--Albert Schweitzer

She left us.  
Yesterday.  
At 5:30 pm.  
I tried to be late to the appointment.  My hands shook as I took the final turn into the lot.  

It was the end of 16 years.  


Words' failures reek when you try to explain grief.  It's like feeling your insides sucked out through a plastic straw. 


That cat was made of love.  Her magic was that she shared it with us all.   


Goodnight, Bella.

We love you.  

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

House of Cards

I am not made of paper. I refuse to build myself out of the black and white of textual production. I'm not some house of cards ready to fall. Unfortunately, I can conceptualize negative. I understand what it is to be not. I am a learner. In school, out of it, I can't stand the inertia that comes with not learning. I think it is this love of learning that has also made me so interested in teaching, sharing that joy. So much of schooling is centered around knowing. And knowing has it's place. But I found that in graduate school that class became a place to show off the things you knew and highlight those who didn't. Very rarely was there substantive teaching or freedom to not know.
Read more

Obstacles

Image
"Anyone can hold the helm when the sea is calm." --Publilius Syrus I spend an excessive amount of time firming the narrative of my life.  If I believe anything, it is that purpose gives the details meaning. My details, you see, are scattered.  For a while, it has been a slow leak.  Drip. Drip. Drip.  Then one event crashed through the dam and my details are spraying, like a geyser, all over the wilderness.  Can you imagine trying to stop Old Faithful?  Can you imaging wanting to stop Old Faithful? Perhaps I am a park ranger, sent here to tend to a natural phenomena.  I observe.  I take furious notes, capturing every detail.  The sun sets and I leave at day's end.  The geyser erupting, out of control, but now alone. Perhaps I am a tourist, come for the day.  I read the signs, "Danger" and "Stay back".  For ten minutes, I drink in the beauty with my eyes.  I let little puddles of water build on my poncho.  I l...
Read more

Crooked Smile

Image
I have a crooked smile. When I'm really happy, it is totally askew.  My mouth and face seem to occupy different space-time continuums.  Noticing this is the dark part of my brain reminding me that even in happiness, I should find fault. The light part of my brain recounts a thousand images of happiness of those I love.  The memories are always slightly askew.  One eye half-closed.  A mouth stretched in laughter.  A shirt covered in stains.  Strands of hair going every which way.  Happiness is rarely well put together. Meanwhile, I battle for perfection.  It is a foolish pursuit of an ungodly creature.  The quest is rigged, ready to flay you with failure at every turn.  But I take my penance with pride.  I swell up with self-satisfaction that I have suffered more than most.  When I go home, alone, I look into the mirror and shrink under the weight of imperfection. My face, you see, it isn't great.  My nose ...
Read more