Can go fuck itself. I have in the past been such a spiritual person and as much as I want to try and go back to it I just struggle with it too much now. I just can't believe that all this crap would happen to me if there really were such thing as a higher power watching over me. I know it could be worse--I know that. I know I could be dying or hungry or whatever. But my life has just been this trickle down of awfulness since summer of 2012 and everything that transpires just ends up being worse than the thing before. I have tried over and over again to be positive and change the way I think about things but higher power is honestly just too much for me to accept. Stanley's death just nailed the coffin for that as far as I'm concerned. Just fuck everything.
I had a terrible weekend. My husband had to work so I pretty much stayed home alone all weekend with Mingus and Lulu and cried. I miss my cat so much it is hard to breathe sometimes. I feel like I've had a piece of my heart ripped out. I keep thinking about how I left him there, dead, and couldn't do anything about it. I feel moments where I think I should have at least tried to get him to the big hospital for tests, but then I go back to knowing how bad it was and how much he truly was suffering and would have continued to suffer. I think about how horrible it would have been to be thinking about him all alone at the house all day while I was at work, worrying that today would be the day I would come home and find him dead and not know what happened. I think about how much money I would have spent and he would have ended up dying anyway. I think about panicking and taking him back and forth to the vet. I loved that cat so much there just aren't even enough words to express it. And I feel like I failed him. I should have taken his ashes. I shouldn't have thrown out his food dish in a moment of feeling like I couldn't look at it there. I should have gotten a lock of his fur. All I have left is this beautiful paw print. I feel so guilty even though deep down I know I shouldn't. I think beating myself up about it just makes me feel like I might have someone to be mad at (me). I don't know what else to do.
My stupid stomach illness isn't getting better. I am going to see my doctor on Wednesday (thank goodness) but I am terrified of what he is going to say at this point. I have been through elimination diets. I have had rounds of antibiotics. I have had every test ever. What am I supposed to do?!?! I want to go back to TTC. Part of me just feels like, screw it, what is the worst that can happen? I mean if it hasn't happened by now it probably won't anyway. I am so discouraged by everything. And to top it all off, I am pretty sure I am having an anovulatory cycle or a really long one. I got my positive OPK on the day Stanley died and the day after. That was over a week ago and still no O. I know it is obviously because of the stress. I just fucking hate my body in every way right now.
I actually do have some good news though, which is that I really like my new job. I didn't think I was going to, and to be honest I almost didn't apply for it because I didn't want it. Which is of course why I think I ended up getting it. But it is working very well for me and seems to be a good fit which surprises me more than anyone I'm sure. It's a lot of fun so far and the kids are great. Perhaps my Stanley is guiding them to be good for me. I guess we'll see how it progresses.
Monday, March 10, 2014
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Rainbows
Crying. My husband has seen me ugly cry more in the past week than anyone ever. If I'm honest, I don't think I've ever been this heartsick before. I am literally in pain from the loss of my Stanley. It's like there is a hole in my heart. In my life, in our family. I can't stand it. It has been one week since we had to put him to sleep and I can't get the images out of my head or the way that he died. It was horrible; so sudden and panicked and frantic and quick. I know he was suffering and deep down I know it was the right thing to do but I just can't stop feeling like I killed him. Like I took his life. It was too soon; I didn't want him to go that way. I wanted him to go lie down under a tree and die peacefully when he was 20 years old. That's what I hope for my other two. I feel gulity that I didn't take his ashes. I just didn't feel like I would ever trust that they were really his, and even if they were what would I have done with them? Kept them in some urn forever? Scattered them in the lake? He hated the water. In fact he was terrified to go outside most of the time. He was so silly; he would beg to go out and then he would stay outside for five minutes, eat as much grass as possible and then cry to come back inside where he would promptly throw it all up. On the carpet, of course. Plus it was almost $200 dollars. I think I just felt like why spend $200 for him to be dead anyway? But now I honestly regret it. I feel like I don't have anything left of him except the beautiful paw print the vet made for me. And the orange fur I find around the house on the cat tree and on the curtains and the blanket on the couch. That's the stuff that really kills me. I really thought he would outlive all of them. I miss him so much. It really truly hurts.
I can't help feeling like my life will never be the same. And it won't. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know that it won't hurt this much forever and I know that eventually I will be able to move on from it, but this has begun a huge shift in my life. It is the end of an era. I was 21 when I got Mingus and Lulu and 22 when we added Stanley. I am 34 now. I have brought these cats all over the northeast with me. Everything I did was based around them. Anywhere I went I made sure that they could come and would be welcomed. The only time I didn't was a relationship that lasted a little over two years which I deeply regret. They were my little family and I made them my first priority always. It seems so quiet and lonesome in the house with just two cats. Stanley and Mingus were best friends and Lulu and Stanley would always squabble loudly. Mingus and Lulu are pretty mellow together. They are mostly independent. They have been wonderful and trying to make up for it but I know how much they miss him too. Lulu has taken his spot sleeping up by our heads. She's not as snuggly as he was, so she kind of sleeps on top of our heads instead of right in between us. With Stan you could snuggle him like a teddy bear and he would just purr and go right to sleep. Mingus has been snuggling with me a lot, but he gets restless and leaves after a bit. Stanley would just cuddle up for hours. He was the one I was closest to. I love Mingus and Lulu to the moon and back and am very close to both of them, but Stanley was the cat version of me. If I went upstairs, he went upstairs. If I went downstairs he did too. He was very affectionate and loving and never aloof. It is not the same and never will be. And Mingus and Lulu are 13. Let's be honest; they don't have a whole lot of time left. And that makes me really sad too. I love them all so much and so does my husband. He loved them from the moment we got together and they became his cats too.
I started a new teaching job this week. It was so hard to come in on Monday morning after what happened last weekend, but at the same time it was a good thing to have something to keep my mind off of Stanley rather than sitting at home in paralyzing grief. Every day I held it together all day long and then got in my car and broke down after school. On Tuesday I was crying and thinking about my mother. My mother told me he would come to me somehow. She has told me stories of feeling her mother at a certain time and place after her mother had passed, or of a dream she had when we had to put my cat I grew up with to sleep. But that kind of thing never happens to me. I was crying and wishing it did. I said, "Stanley if you can hear me I wish you could give me a sign." And then......I swear to you, I looked out the window and saw this little patch of rainbow in the sky. You wouldn't have seen it unless you were paying attention. It wasn't an arch or even very large. But it was there and it stayed. I was overcome and started talking to him and bawling. I couldn't believe it. There he was, having crossed the Rainbow Bridge. Then on Thursday I had a dream about him. In the dream we were at the vet but he was fine. He was himself, not sick or scared. I could feel his fur--he had the softest fur; he never outgrew his kitten coat--and everything. I kept saying to the vet, "Didn't we already do this? Weren't we already here? Look at him; he's fine, do we really have to do this?" I know that was him, telling me he is fine. And then yesterday I saw another rainbow patch in the sky on my way home from school. I know he is trying to tell me he has crossed over and is okay and forgives me and understands. But somehow I don't feel any better.
I almost am worried about feeling better. It feels like if I start to feel better than I am letting him go and I am not ready to do that. I'm just not. It's like if I'm not grieving then I'm not honoring his memory. Deep down I know that is ridiculous, but I suppose that if I do start to feel better that will signify that I am ready to start letting him go. I think it's going to take a long time.
I can't help feeling like my life will never be the same. And it won't. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know that it won't hurt this much forever and I know that eventually I will be able to move on from it, but this has begun a huge shift in my life. It is the end of an era. I was 21 when I got Mingus and Lulu and 22 when we added Stanley. I am 34 now. I have brought these cats all over the northeast with me. Everything I did was based around them. Anywhere I went I made sure that they could come and would be welcomed. The only time I didn't was a relationship that lasted a little over two years which I deeply regret. They were my little family and I made them my first priority always. It seems so quiet and lonesome in the house with just two cats. Stanley and Mingus were best friends and Lulu and Stanley would always squabble loudly. Mingus and Lulu are pretty mellow together. They are mostly independent. They have been wonderful and trying to make up for it but I know how much they miss him too. Lulu has taken his spot sleeping up by our heads. She's not as snuggly as he was, so she kind of sleeps on top of our heads instead of right in between us. With Stan you could snuggle him like a teddy bear and he would just purr and go right to sleep. Mingus has been snuggling with me a lot, but he gets restless and leaves after a bit. Stanley would just cuddle up for hours. He was the one I was closest to. I love Mingus and Lulu to the moon and back and am very close to both of them, but Stanley was the cat version of me. If I went upstairs, he went upstairs. If I went downstairs he did too. He was very affectionate and loving and never aloof. It is not the same and never will be. And Mingus and Lulu are 13. Let's be honest; they don't have a whole lot of time left. And that makes me really sad too. I love them all so much and so does my husband. He loved them from the moment we got together and they became his cats too.
I started a new teaching job this week. It was so hard to come in on Monday morning after what happened last weekend, but at the same time it was a good thing to have something to keep my mind off of Stanley rather than sitting at home in paralyzing grief. Every day I held it together all day long and then got in my car and broke down after school. On Tuesday I was crying and thinking about my mother. My mother told me he would come to me somehow. She has told me stories of feeling her mother at a certain time and place after her mother had passed, or of a dream she had when we had to put my cat I grew up with to sleep. But that kind of thing never happens to me. I was crying and wishing it did. I said, "Stanley if you can hear me I wish you could give me a sign." And then......I swear to you, I looked out the window and saw this little patch of rainbow in the sky. You wouldn't have seen it unless you were paying attention. It wasn't an arch or even very large. But it was there and it stayed. I was overcome and started talking to him and bawling. I couldn't believe it. There he was, having crossed the Rainbow Bridge. Then on Thursday I had a dream about him. In the dream we were at the vet but he was fine. He was himself, not sick or scared. I could feel his fur--he had the softest fur; he never outgrew his kitten coat--and everything. I kept saying to the vet, "Didn't we already do this? Weren't we already here? Look at him; he's fine, do we really have to do this?" I know that was him, telling me he is fine. And then yesterday I saw another rainbow patch in the sky on my way home from school. I know he is trying to tell me he has crossed over and is okay and forgives me and understands. But somehow I don't feel any better.
I almost am worried about feeling better. It feels like if I start to feel better than I am letting him go and I am not ready to do that. I'm just not. It's like if I'm not grieving then I'm not honoring his memory. Deep down I know that is ridiculous, but I suppose that if I do start to feel better that will signify that I am ready to start letting him go. I think it's going to take a long time.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
So Cat.....where DID you grow up anyway?
I feel like twenty times a day I'm saying "I grew up there." "Where I grew up _______." "That happened where I grow up." And I'm always talking about different places. Someone recently asked me, "Were your parents military?" "Worse," I answered. "They were hippies."
Not that there's anything wrong with that! I am very much a hippie in a lot of ways myself. But my folks had a hard time getting their shit together when I was a kid. I was born on Martha's Vineyard, a now famous island of the coast of Cape Cod in Massachusetts. No, we were not rich or famous. When I was growing up the island was mostly made up of working class hippies; restauraneurs, fisherman, carpenters, small business owners. Sure, we had rich and famous tourists in the summer, but it was dead in the winter. It was after Bill Clinton came in the 90's that things really started to change in my opinion. But I digress........
Anyway, we moved to New York City when I was two, after a short jaunt to Hawaii of which I have little to no recollection. The way my mother tells it, they purchased this fixer upper house and after about a month winter hit. She woke up one morning and went downstairs and looked at a thermometer. She called for my father and told him it was 30 degrees. It being winter in Massachusetts my dad didn't think it was a big deal.
"You don't understand," she said. "It's 30 degrees inside the house." Big old drafty thing that it was. So we flew to Hawaii and spent a few months there. My mom lived there in her serious hippie days and still knew people there. After we came back, it's a little fuzzy to me on when exactly we moved to New York but it couldn't have been very long afterwards.
We lived in New York on the lower east side for four years. I think we spent summers still on the Vineyard because we still had that house and went back all the time. The people there were still very much a part of our lives. While we were living in New York my parents split up. My mom moved me to Boston and my dad stayed in New York. This was short lived. I was waking up in the middle of the night with stomach pains all the time. I would wake my mother and tell her I was in pain and she would drive me to the hospital but I always fell asleep before we got there. My mother did take me to the doctor (during the day) and he finally told her he thought I was depressed. That I missed my father and my friends and New York City. I cried a lot. I remember the time I started crying and my mother finally asked me if I wanted to go back to New York and live with my dad. I told her I did.
So she sent me back and I lived alone with my dad for almost all of kindergarten. We had a blast. We both have very fond memories of that time. But I did miss my mom, so I was very happy when she came back. They decided to try and make it work and we stayed in New York for one more year. Then we moved to Arizona. This was also short lived. My father hated it so much that after two months he told my mom that she could stay or she could come but he was leaving. So we moved back to Martha's Vineyard where we stayed for three more years. I was in second grade and finally got to go to school with all the kids I had grown up knowing, but I was still heartbroken over leaving New York and my best friend there.
My parents finally split up when I was seven or eight. I can't remember if I was in third grade yet or not. It was very, very messy and horrible. They fought and hated each other a lot. Eventually my dad moved back to New York and my mom and I moved to Boston (well, okay, Cambridge). They sold the house on the Vineyard.
I was once again devastated over this move, perhaps even more so because I was older and very attached to my friends. No one had ever heard of Martha's Vineyard and I was teased a lot for being a skinny white girl with absolutely no urban coolness. It was an extremely difficult transition. I kept in close contact with my friends on MV and we continued to attend each other's birthday parties and talk on the phone and write letters. I visited my dad a lot in New York City. And eventually I did grow to love living in Cambridge.
The problem was, my mom and I had major issues. Like, major ones. We were so close it was painful, but I was going through adolescent rage and I hated her at the same time that I loved her. I was angry for never having any stability and for just being my mom. I feel very guilty to this day about how awful I was to her, but it was what it was. In eighth grade I got myself some cool friends and some self confidence and decided I was too cool for school. I failed math and practically failed a lot of other subjects. My mom and I fought tooth and nail. She and my dad sent me to a private school for the arts for my freshman year of high school but I did no better even though I made some great friends. She constantly threatened to send me to go live with my dad and stepmother.
The summer in after my freshman year, my stepmother's ex husband (who still lived on MV) was on the brink of bankruptcy. He called her up and asked her if she wanted to buy the house. She offered him a ridiculously low amount of money and he took it. She and my dad came up with a plan. They were done living in New York City and wanted to move to western Massachusetts. They decided to leave New York and go back to the Vineyard for the summer to fix up the house. They would sell the house and use the money to move to Northampton and buy a house there.
Cue my annual summer visit. I always visited them for two or three weeks in the summer, and this one was no different. My mom and I had had an epic fight the week before I came for the visit, and my dad sat me down and told me that I had to shape up or she was going to send me to live with them. But it was too late. She had made her decision, and when I went home she informed me that I needed to pack my stuff. I going back to the Vineyard, something that five years ago would have been a dream come true for me but was now unthinkable.
My dad made the executive decision that due to the fact that I had had enough upheaval and instability in my life we would stay on the Vineyard instead of moving to Northampton. I was miserable and so was my stepmother. But it ended up being the best thing that could have ever happened for any of us. We had a great time together in the three years we lived together. I had grown to be extremely adaptable and figured it out eventually. My old friends we now just that; my old friends. For the most part I had to make completely new ones. But it was okay. I had a great high school experience.
My mom moved to California for love and work about six months after sending me to my dad's. At first I was angry but I eventually forgave her. I knew she needed to do it and that it broke her heart to not be with me. She still lives there and married my now stepfather.
I unfortunately continued the pattern of moving around. All I have ever craved is stability but I literally had no way to understand how to cultivate it. I went to three different colleges and moved around between four different states until finally settling here in New Jersey. So where exactly did I grow up?
As a kid, Martha's Vineyard, Cambridge and New York City. As an adult, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New York and New Jersey. So I grew up a lot of places.
Not that there's anything wrong with that! I am very much a hippie in a lot of ways myself. But my folks had a hard time getting their shit together when I was a kid. I was born on Martha's Vineyard, a now famous island of the coast of Cape Cod in Massachusetts. No, we were not rich or famous. When I was growing up the island was mostly made up of working class hippies; restauraneurs, fisherman, carpenters, small business owners. Sure, we had rich and famous tourists in the summer, but it was dead in the winter. It was after Bill Clinton came in the 90's that things really started to change in my opinion. But I digress........
Anyway, we moved to New York City when I was two, after a short jaunt to Hawaii of which I have little to no recollection. The way my mother tells it, they purchased this fixer upper house and after about a month winter hit. She woke up one morning and went downstairs and looked at a thermometer. She called for my father and told him it was 30 degrees. It being winter in Massachusetts my dad didn't think it was a big deal.
"You don't understand," she said. "It's 30 degrees inside the house." Big old drafty thing that it was. So we flew to Hawaii and spent a few months there. My mom lived there in her serious hippie days and still knew people there. After we came back, it's a little fuzzy to me on when exactly we moved to New York but it couldn't have been very long afterwards.
We lived in New York on the lower east side for four years. I think we spent summers still on the Vineyard because we still had that house and went back all the time. The people there were still very much a part of our lives. While we were living in New York my parents split up. My mom moved me to Boston and my dad stayed in New York. This was short lived. I was waking up in the middle of the night with stomach pains all the time. I would wake my mother and tell her I was in pain and she would drive me to the hospital but I always fell asleep before we got there. My mother did take me to the doctor (during the day) and he finally told her he thought I was depressed. That I missed my father and my friends and New York City. I cried a lot. I remember the time I started crying and my mother finally asked me if I wanted to go back to New York and live with my dad. I told her I did.
So she sent me back and I lived alone with my dad for almost all of kindergarten. We had a blast. We both have very fond memories of that time. But I did miss my mom, so I was very happy when she came back. They decided to try and make it work and we stayed in New York for one more year. Then we moved to Arizona. This was also short lived. My father hated it so much that after two months he told my mom that she could stay or she could come but he was leaving. So we moved back to Martha's Vineyard where we stayed for three more years. I was in second grade and finally got to go to school with all the kids I had grown up knowing, but I was still heartbroken over leaving New York and my best friend there.
My parents finally split up when I was seven or eight. I can't remember if I was in third grade yet or not. It was very, very messy and horrible. They fought and hated each other a lot. Eventually my dad moved back to New York and my mom and I moved to Boston (well, okay, Cambridge). They sold the house on the Vineyard.
I was once again devastated over this move, perhaps even more so because I was older and very attached to my friends. No one had ever heard of Martha's Vineyard and I was teased a lot for being a skinny white girl with absolutely no urban coolness. It was an extremely difficult transition. I kept in close contact with my friends on MV and we continued to attend each other's birthday parties and talk on the phone and write letters. I visited my dad a lot in New York City. And eventually I did grow to love living in Cambridge.
The problem was, my mom and I had major issues. Like, major ones. We were so close it was painful, but I was going through adolescent rage and I hated her at the same time that I loved her. I was angry for never having any stability and for just being my mom. I feel very guilty to this day about how awful I was to her, but it was what it was. In eighth grade I got myself some cool friends and some self confidence and decided I was too cool for school. I failed math and practically failed a lot of other subjects. My mom and I fought tooth and nail. She and my dad sent me to a private school for the arts for my freshman year of high school but I did no better even though I made some great friends. She constantly threatened to send me to go live with my dad and stepmother.
The summer in after my freshman year, my stepmother's ex husband (who still lived on MV) was on the brink of bankruptcy. He called her up and asked her if she wanted to buy the house. She offered him a ridiculously low amount of money and he took it. She and my dad came up with a plan. They were done living in New York City and wanted to move to western Massachusetts. They decided to leave New York and go back to the Vineyard for the summer to fix up the house. They would sell the house and use the money to move to Northampton and buy a house there.
Cue my annual summer visit. I always visited them for two or three weeks in the summer, and this one was no different. My mom and I had had an epic fight the week before I came for the visit, and my dad sat me down and told me that I had to shape up or she was going to send me to live with them. But it was too late. She had made her decision, and when I went home she informed me that I needed to pack my stuff. I going back to the Vineyard, something that five years ago would have been a dream come true for me but was now unthinkable.
My dad made the executive decision that due to the fact that I had had enough upheaval and instability in my life we would stay on the Vineyard instead of moving to Northampton. I was miserable and so was my stepmother. But it ended up being the best thing that could have ever happened for any of us. We had a great time together in the three years we lived together. I had grown to be extremely adaptable and figured it out eventually. My old friends we now just that; my old friends. For the most part I had to make completely new ones. But it was okay. I had a great high school experience.
My mom moved to California for love and work about six months after sending me to my dad's. At first I was angry but I eventually forgave her. I knew she needed to do it and that it broke her heart to not be with me. She still lives there and married my now stepfather.
I unfortunately continued the pattern of moving around. All I have ever craved is stability but I literally had no way to understand how to cultivate it. I went to three different colleges and moved around between four different states until finally settling here in New Jersey. So where exactly did I grow up?
As a kid, Martha's Vineyard, Cambridge and New York City. As an adult, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New York and New Jersey. So I grew up a lot of places.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Stanleypants
Today I said goodbye to my sweet orange cat Stanley (or Stanleypants or Mr. Pants as he was known for his big fluffy pants). He was one of three cats that I have had since I was 21. He was the last to join the crew and I got him when I was 22. He was 12 years old and lived in four different states with me, saw me through three relationships and my now marriage, lived in small spaces with just me and the other two cats, lived in a giant house with me and all the guys in my band and two other roommates, and finally, peacefully with my husband and me and the two other cats.
He jumped up on the bed in the middle of the night and was breathing funny. I took him to the vet first thing in the morning and they x-rayed him. The vet told me he had advanced stage heart disease and his lungs were filled with fluid. His heart was so big it was putting pressure on his windpipe. Even if I took him to the big fancy vet and got him an echo they would have given me a bad prognosis and he might have lived for another few months but would probably suffer. She said that even with meds heart disease is not managed well. I am still so shocked; he was absolutely fine yesterday. I know it was for the best but I just can't believe it. He was my best friend. I mean I love all three of my cats so much, but I would be lying if I didn't say I had a special connection with him. And now this morning I paid someone to take his life. I know it was the right thing to do but still........It was crazy; I literally watched the light go out of his eyes, I knew the moment he passed. I saw it. I loved that cat so much. He was the best and I already miss him so much.
He jumped up on the bed in the middle of the night and was breathing funny. I took him to the vet first thing in the morning and they x-rayed him. The vet told me he had advanced stage heart disease and his lungs were filled with fluid. His heart was so big it was putting pressure on his windpipe. Even if I took him to the big fancy vet and got him an echo they would have given me a bad prognosis and he might have lived for another few months but would probably suffer. She said that even with meds heart disease is not managed well. I am still so shocked; he was absolutely fine yesterday. I know it was for the best but I just can't believe it. He was my best friend. I mean I love all three of my cats so much, but I would be lying if I didn't say I had a special connection with him. And now this morning I paid someone to take his life. I know it was the right thing to do but still........It was crazy; I literally watched the light go out of his eyes, I knew the moment he passed. I saw it. I loved that cat so much. He was the best and I already miss him so much.
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