Maddie's Song

Two months.

(Photo courtesy of Heather Spohr)

Two months ago, Mike and Heather Spohr lost their precious daughter, Maddie. She was 17 months old.

Born prematurely after a complicated pregnancy, Maddie was a fighter. She defied the odds to survive the pregnancy, to be born, and to be released from a prolonged stay in the NICU. And though she had weak lungs and struggled to gain weight, she did well at home overall.

Until one day, she didn't.

For 17 precious months, Maddie grew in beauty and intelligence, making new friends and earning the love and admiration of all who saw her. And then, one day, she caught a cold, just as she had many times before. And she quickly developed a chest rattle and required oxygen, just as she had many times before. And she was admitted to hospital with pneumonia, just as she had been many times before because her lungs, weakened from prematurity, made her more susceptible to complications from colds. And she should have recovered and been released to her loving parents, just as she had always been before. But this time, she wasn't. And no one saw it coming.

She was special. And she is greatly missed.

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I never met Maddie. And I don't know her parents in real life. But for some reason, Maddie's story had an impact on me, and I don't rightly know just why.

Maybe it's because she passed away on J's birthday this year. Or because of the similarities between my pregnancies and Heather's. Or perhaps it's because Maddie was a preemie, just like J and several other children who we love so deeply. Or that she, like J, struggled to gain weight. Or the fact that she bears a bit of a physical resemblance to our baby N.

Or maybe it's because, after their loss, her parents threw themselves headlong into fundraising efforts for the March of Dimes, raising about $60,000 in Maddie's name, in hopes that other parents may not have to go through this pain.

And maybe it's because, several years ago, a couple of really close friends of ours who we love deeply also lost a much loved baby born too soon. At the time, I wanted to write something in tribute to their beautiful little Aiden. But I was shredded, too close to the loss and pain, and I couldn't pass through it all to find a way. Sometimes, that's how it happens.

Maybe it's any of these. Or more likely, it's a combination of all. But Maddie inspired me, just as she has inspired and continues to inspire so many of us. And this is why I wrote to her mother, Heather, and asked permission to use some of her words, so beautifully written on her blog, in a tribute to the incredible Madeline. And she agreed.

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And so, I am now posting a song. Lyrics by Heather and myself, together with music that I wrote. Maddie's Song. And I hope you like it.



MADDIE'S SONG

Verse 1
There’s a heaven in your smile.
There’s a halo of light around Madeline.
Though I shared it for only just awhile.

Verse 2
Your bright eyes and golden curls.
Such a beautiful child is my Madeline.
An angel sent from another world.
Smart, sweet little girl.

Chorus
Heaven
Right in front of me.
You will always be
The daughter I always wanted.
Remembered
For all eternity.
You will always be
The daughter I always wanted.

Verse 3
There’s a hole here in my arms.
A space left by my Madeline.
Exquisite pain I can’t comprehend.
And a world that makes no sense.

[Chorus]
[Musical Break]

Verse 4
There’s a heaven in your smile.
There’s a halo of light around Madeline.
And I know that someday, we’ll meet again.

[Chorus x 2]
For Madeline Alice Spohr. And for her parents. And for all children whose lives have been cut too short, and their parents as well. For those left behind to grieve and mourn a loss none should have to bear.

For all of you. I wish you strength to bear up, hope for the future, and a world with no pain.

In which I declare war. A kind of sad and pathetic war, but war nonetheless

It's April. It is what it is.

Ordinarily, April is tax season. It's crazy busy. There's no time for anything but taxes. Just get them done, get them filed, get them paid. It's April. That's it.

In April, things get chaotic. It's tense. Balance is difficult. Work takes a higher priority, and personal life takes a step back. But it's just April. Not a big deal. The chaos is contained, so I can handle it. Actually, I usually quite enjoy April.

This year, April is my last month of maternity leave. I'm missing tax season. But I haven't escaped the chaos and tension. It's just manifested itself in different ways. Ways that I do not enjoy at all. Ways that make me really miss tax season.

This year, I hate April. Hate it more than I had imagined possible. Hate it with a hatred that exceeds even my hatred of 2008. And we all know how much I hated that year, don't we?

This year, April has been hard on a lot of people, for a lot of reasons. And I haven't felt like posting much during the whole thing, so I haven't.

This year, I grit my teeth, and I wade through April in anger and frustration. But as I have no one with whom I can genuinely be angry or frustrated, I have no outlet.

And so, I have decided to be angry with April. (Yes, the month.) Accordingly, I hereby declare war on April. (Yes, I realize that I sound like a lunatic.) And I assert that April shall bear the brunt of my wrath. Of course, April being a month of the year rather than a tangible object makes it rather difficult for me to wreak the havoc on it that it so richly deserves. But were there a way, I guarantee that I would find it and it would pay dearly for what it has done.

(Stupid month and its stupid intangible properties ... mutter, mutter ...)

It's April. It is what it is.

Note: I'll be back to regular posting as soon as I find my bliss. I know I left it here somewhere ...

Seriously Random

Time for Random Tuesday Thoughts, sponsored by Keely over at The Un Mom. So here goes. Try to keep up.



One of my friends passed away last week, and I've been working on a post in memory. Should be up soon, if I can ever finish it. Looking for the humour in the situation, so it has to be just right; Joe was a born comic, and the sombre wouldn't suit him at all. Ever the comedian, he checked out on April 1st. Which was actually hilarious in its own way, since most people thought it was an April Fool's Day prank. Even at the memorial service, I think some of us expected him to leap out, laughing like a maniac, and say he was just fine. But no. And while you may think it terrible of me to refer to death as "hilarious", Joe would have really liked it. If you knew him, you'd understand. If not, that's a shame. Joe was one of the good ones, and I bet heaven is an even happier place now that he's in it. Remember the good times.

Today, I am the mother of a 4-year old. J's party with his school friends is today, at school. His party with all our friends was Sunday, just before the memorial service. J was very excited, because he'd talked me into making him a cake shaped like a tank. It turned out well; pictures will come. J was walking around for 2 weeks before his party telling everyone. "Mommy's going to bake me a cake! It's an army machine! And it has a BIG GUN!!" J is obsessed with guns. It's a very strange obsession, since we don't allow guns as toys, and neither does school, and neither do his grandparents, and ... honestly, we have no idea why he's so gun-crazy. It's a bit disconcerting. A birthday post should also be forthcoming. Can't believe he's four already; where does the time go?

On the subject of "where does the time go", I go back to work in four more weeks. Since I spent much of my maternity leave recovering from a knee break, it just doesn't feel right to go back yet. Leave feels incomplete somehow. In some ways, it will be nice to be back among adults some of the time. In other ways ... well, change is always alarming. I'll miss my baby, and my routine will be all messed up for awhile. I'll do it because I have to; it's the only way our family can make ends meet. And I really do like my job and my employer a lot. But it's still hard to leave the baby. And while a part of me wants to go back to work, there's also a pretty big part of me that just doesn't want to be away from the kids at all. I mean, ever. They should just stay little forever, I think.

Knee's flaring up again. I guess it's affected by changes in the weather. I'd love for it to quit hurting, but every so often, I develop a pronounced limp. While I really do miss the cat, I can't help but think that it's kind of all her fault I'm in this condition. At least I'll always remember her, right? I think I'll name my knee hardware "Damn Cat", in her honour.

School's going okay, I suppose. I got de-railed again last week, when Joe passed. So now, I'm playing catch up again. Lots of fun. Still no word back on my first assignment, though some other students have theirs back already. And on the subject of "some other students", I'm feeling generally frustrated with my class in general. I just wish people would read the materials before asking questions. (Honestly, people; I'm happy to brainstorm, but I can't read the textbook for you!) Anyway, hopefully I did okay on the first assignment. I'm working on the second now. And I'm still waiting for the results from my last class and the results of my university application. These things all take time, and patience is not my strong suit.

Happy Tuesday, everyone. Now, go visit Keely, and do your own Random Tuesday Thoughts.

It's in his kiss

Last night, I had a dream that I flunked my first assignment in the current class. Apparently, my efforts were so abysmal that they didn't even bother to grade it. They were actually insulted by my low quality project and just wanted me to redo it in its entirety. (This is actually unheard of; in these courses, there are no do-overs ... if you fail, you fail.) Assignment marks should be released some time today.

Now, on to business ...

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Today's inspiration comes from Heinous over at Irregularly Periodic Ruminations, another fabulous writer with a most excellent imagination. Heinous works hard, but still takes time out of his busy schedule to periodically answer readership questions from the male perspective. He's a good samaritan and, in his spare time, enjoys visiting with his eccentric neighbours and helping them out with their gardening problems.

See? Saintly.

The other day, Heinous posted about, among other things, his first kiss. Which of course only served to make me think. And that kind of thing can be dangerous; I don't recommend it. (I know you like humour in your posts, Heinous. Hope you aren't too upset that you inspired this little diddy.)

**********
When I was a kid, I went to bible camp every summer. A true tomboy, I marched to the beat of a different drummer, and I really didn't fit in (not that I tried too hard). But the summer I turned 12, camp was different for two reasons. Firstly, there weren't enough junior or senior highs to make up two camps, so they combined the groups into one and held a junior/senior high camp. The second change? More boys. You see, normally the camp had three cabins of girls and three of boys. But this year, there were only enough girls to make up two cabins, while the boys filled up four. In years past, the camp was divided in half, with boys' quarters on one side and girls' on the other. But in the current year, one cabin on the girls' side was relegated to the boys, and we all got to hang out in closer proximity. As you might imagine, this would work out rather well for my 12-year old tomboy self. More comfortable with the new arrangement, I became a bit more outgoing and sociable than had been the case in other years. So I got noticed a bit more.

That summer, there were at least three new boys in attendance. Tyler, Gary, and Andy all hung out together. They were great guys, but they also didn't quite fit in at church camp, and they seemed to want to hang out with me. I was reclusive and had trust issues, so that took some work on their part. Persistent little buggers that they were, they really put themselves out there trying to get to know me.

Andy was shy and quiet; we didn't get to know each other well. Tyler and Gary were both hilariously competitive and a laugh riot to be around together. Gary was hyped up and unobservant; he never seemed to pick up on my cues, couldn't tell when I was serious or joking, and he'd keep picking until Tyler reined him in. That didn't go over well with me. So Andy, Gary, and I were chummy, but we never really became friends.

But Tyler and I hit it off. We were both quiet, sensitive, dreamy kids, and I liked him a lot. He was an intuitive sort, and he understood me. No easy feat, I assure you. So he and I spent a lot of time together that week, hunting for frogs in the swamp and hanging out in the back of the group at campfire. He was a really sweet boy, known for his red-brown hair that flopped in front of his face and the fact that he wore the same orange football jersey for the entire week.

We weren't dumb, and we knew that the other kids considered us to be a couple. But we were a young, shy pair; a 12-year old girl and a 13-year old boy. We enjoyed each other's company, had a bit of a crush, and called it a day. Nothing more. He was my friend. About the nicest, sweetest, most respectful little rednecky farm boy I'd ever known. At the end of camp, we exchanged addresses and phone numbers and promised to stay in touch. We wrote back and forth a couple of times, and he sent me a school picture, signed "With all my love". It made me smile; mostly because I noticed he was no longer wearing the famed orange jersey. And then, as too often happens, we just lost touch.

One day, I was cleaning out an old drawer, and I came across his picture and address. I decided to write him, to see what he'd been up to. For all I knew, he'd moved. It had been a few years; I was now 15. But I still had fond memories of him and thought it would be nice to renew acquaintances. I mailed the letter, thinking nothing would likely come of it anyway.

A few days later, he called. Said he thought of me often but wasn't sure how to reach me these days, and thought maybe I didn't want contact with him any longer anyway. I was happy to hear from him. It had been far too long. After we hung up, Tyler decided he really wanted to see me again. I still lived in the city, and he still lived on the farm. So he hitched a ride to town, called when he arrived, and made his way over to my house. I was surprised; still a pretty reclusive sort, I didn't get many visitors.

We hung out and talked. He was still the same sweet, sensitive boy I remembered. We decided to go for a walk, down to the community league playground and tennis courts. He stopped me while we were walking through the tennis courts and said: "Can I do something I've been wanting to do for the last three years?" (Even then, I thought that was a pretty cheesy line, but it was kind of cute coming from a 16-year old boy.) And when I naively said "What?", he leaned in and kissed me for the first time.

He spent about a week in town, staying with family and hanging out with me. And then a family obligation arose and he had to leave in a hurry. Once again, we lost touch. I never saw him again.

There are some people who always hold a special place in your heart. Who you will always feel connected to, no matter how much time passes. Tyler is one of those people. The sweet, sensitive, oddly intuitive 13-year old boy who befriended me one summer. He will always be special.

Every so often, I think of him, and I wonder what he's doing these days. I hope he's happy. He deserves a life filled with good times and great possibilities. I tried searching Facebook a few times, but he wasn't there. I wasn't too surprised; social networking wouldn't really be his thing.

And then, I read that post, and I thought of him again. So I googled. I figured nothing would turn up, but I'd just like to see how he's doing these days. He should be a well-adjusted adult by now, thriving and enjoying life.

But it was not to be. I learned that Tyler passed away Halloween of 2003. Over five years ago. I kept searching, hoping it was some sick joke; hoping to see different results. Denial is a beautiful thing when it happens. He's gone. It's real. And so I mourn that amazingly cool 13-year old kid I once knew. My old friend, taken too soon.

Which is all to say that sometimes, life just ain't fair. But at least we have our memories to carry with us. Treasures we keep always. And for that, I am thankful.

**********
Okay. So now, you probably need a good laugh. Go read Heinous and enjoy. You get a mixed bag of emotion over here, but Heinous is always hysterical!

Fifteen long years

It's been 15 years. Has it really been that long? Time has marched on, and now here I stand, 15 years later and still no nearer to comprehension.

**********
Hey. Remember when our friends lived in the top story of that decrepit old rooming house in Scary Central? Infested with mice and bugs, with the slanted roof and the tiny windows, both guys over 6 feet tall, constantly knocking their heads against the roof if they didn't remember to duck in time. The shared bathroom that never had any paper. And the fire escape doors nailed shut, with the uneven stairs that scared any sane person to death. I remember that in coldest winter, the place was freezing so that they had to turn on the oven and open its door just to stay warm.

Remember that locked front door with black leather strap, and no way in save for the sign that read "KNOCK LOUD!!"? What was the point; no one could hear you anyway. So the guys rigged up a doorbell of sorts, with an old can and a couple of utensils inside one window, attached to a string that ran to the top of the rickety fire escape rail, and you had to climb to the top and shake the string for all you were worth so they could come down and let you in. And then there was that defining moment when they got all Jack Torrance crazy and kept running around trying to stab a mouse with a fork.

You and I, horrified that people would actually be living there eating a Christmas meal of Kraft Dinner. And I remember how we heated up plate after plate of Christmas fare that you'd managed to doggie bag from all sorts of Christmas parties, loading foil covered containers into a towel lined box in the hatch of my old white and green Omni, and driving over to make their Christmas a little brighter.

That was you all over.

**********
Hanging at your little two bedroom apartment, just big enough for you and your baby boy. 'Til the squatters moved in. And brought pets. And more squatters. And more pets. And more, and more, and more, and I don't even know how many people were staying with you at any given point in time. Me, the donut shop muffin baker, showing up at your place after shifts, and all of us hanging out in the living room, crammed in tight as sardines, backs against the walls, smoke clouds filling the air, as we played game after game of cards with something like 5 decks combined into one so there'd be enough to go around. "Asshole" was the game. A game for 4, played with something like 20 people. Coming up with new positions for each person, and trying desperately to keep track of who was who. Never knowing what time it was, because that ridiculous pink paper clock with the red handle would freeze, cease, stop, and then run in reverse for awhile? But eventually, I'd go off home and you and the squatters would sleep. I think.

Click-Clack. I still have that clock. It makes me think of you. Good times. Great times.

**********
Stupid road trips 101. Going to the mountains for a day, and the car breaking down. Suddenly, a one-day excursion became two, as we worked to get a radiator shipped down. And then the baby's cold turned croupy overnight, and we steamed him to ease his breathing. Crazy pictures and tired eyes. Everyone singing that ridiculous "Forever Young" song, over and over ... just the same two lines that I had stuck in my head for something like 8 months, and eventually managed to get stuck in everyone else's heads just as it left mine.

How about the drive across lines just to see your boyfriend, who was trucking at the time? And turning into that town that had nothing but miles and miles of Parkades. And a prison. Had we known then what was to come with that guy, I'm not sure we'd have bothered going to see him. But it was good fun, and made for a good trip, even though you were so sick.

And then the time we went on the ridiculous gravel road trip across two provinces and away up north to help two friends get home when they were having vehicle problems. We really just wanted the drive; otherwise, we'd have wired them cash. But drive we did. And you nearly killing yourself when you unbuckled your belt to check on the baby while I was driving on deep gravel and hit that trench and went into the ditch. Fortunate that we were alright. Weird little town ... nothing but trailer parks. But it was interesting to see.

**********
I'd write. Always writing. Writing was the norm. Inspired when driving, I'd often show up at your place with the announcement "Paper! I need paper!" You were always happy to comply. Not my biggest fan; really, my only fan. You always made me give you a signed copy of the new lyric sheets, saying they'd be worth something some day.

Music assignments. Me writing frantically, while the war waged around me. Finally we'd break out in giggles. The whole thing was so stupid, there was no other option. You helped me unwind when I'd be so stressed I thought I would chew my face off. Thanks for being there and believing in me so fervently. It helped.

**********
The fights. The squabbles. The missed weddings. One that I refused to attend, because the guy quite frankly didn't deserve you. And then the other, where I couldn't come because of that stupid little legal proceeding of the ex-casual-girlfriend of your betrothed who I still think was a little bitter and I still don't know quite what happened and how I ended up involved. But it always happened to me, didn't it? Wherever there was trouble, there I'd be, smack dab in the middle of the mess. You were good at getting me out of it and forgiving me my failings.

You were good at getting everyone out of a jam. No matter who was in trouble, you'd find a way to lend a helping hand. You could always see the good.

**********
Your husband. Your precious young son and daughter. Your family. Your friends. We never saw it coming. We were so blind.

**********
I didn't know much about Juvenile Diabetes. I only knew that you had it, and that you needed regular insulin injections to combat it. I always knew there was a problem if you were sleeping at an unusual time. And if there was sweat on your upper lip, you needed sugar. The dosing was difficult. I remember coming by on more than one occasion and finding you in such states. You used to say I was your guardian angel, how I'd arrive when you needed me and help you. I liked that.

I never knew quite how you acquired liver disease. You never seemed inclined to talk about it, and I didn't pry. I knew it was there, but we never discussed it, and I was able to turn a blind eye. I all but forgot about it.

When you got gallstones, I wasn't alarmed. Pretty routine. So when you went in to have your gallbladder removed, none of us could have dreamed that you'd not return home.

Tears shed. Court battles. Immeasurable pain as everyone lashed out, all of us trying to cope with our own personal losses. No one doing well with it. Too much pain.

**********
Today, I stood in that cold space, as dusk turned dark and the wind blew by. There were no flowers today, though I'd gotten them to repair your vase after my last visit. I thought it was sad that there were no flowers. They used to be there, in abundance. But it's been 15 years, and people have moved away and moved on. Next time I visit, I promise to bring you flowers. Maybe the cheap single 7-11 rose like I used to buy you when you needed a quick pick-me-up. Sentimentality was never lost on you.

Today, I stood still, the running vehicle nearby, and I cried. The wound is no longer fresh, but there are some things that never fade completely. Not you. Not even after 15 years. You'll never fade.

My only fan, I stood and sang to you. Your song. I think you would have liked your song. You would have kept a signed copy, in with all the other slightly crumpled lyric sheets, and you would have found it funny that it was originally written in a church parking lot on the inside of a cigarette pack. But you wouldn't have cared about its origins. You weren't like that.

**********

Song for 'Chelle

Standing on an empty space
Alone without a clue.
Looking for a friendly face,
I looked back and there was you.

And I, sometimes I wondered
What it was that saw you through.
And I, sometimes I wondered
'Bout the friend I'd found in you.
And I, sometimes I wondered
If you'd really be alright,
And I wonder if you're somehow here tonight.

Fearing that your heart would break
If you didn't take a stand.
You took all that you could take,
But you still held out your hand.

And I, sometimes I wondered
How you kept your peace of mind.
And I, sometimes I wondered
How your soul could be so kind.
And I, sometimes I wondered
When your patience would run dry,
And I wonder if you'll soon be stopping by.

Standing on an empty space
Staring through the miles.
So much time I had to waste.
You're gone, but I still see your smile.

And I, sometimes I wonder
If your spirit's in the wind.
And I, sometimes I wonder
If the hurt will ever end.
And I, sometimes I wonder
If you really are alright,
And I wonder if you're somehow here tonight.

I wonder if you're somehow here tonight.

**********
It's you all over.

I miss you, my friend. Always.

Things can only get better

Thanks to Dawn over at Embracing the Ordinary Life for these words, which I totally needed to hear today.

"Start BELIEVING things will be ok...cause no matter how bad things are, they will get better...Faster even if you just have Faith."

There is a lot going on in our lives just now. We've taken a few major hits lately. But I know things will get better. It just takes time. And Faith.

Things always get better. They just do. Because life moves in cycles. It can't stay like this forever. And that gives me great comfort and hope today.

I love you because

I love H.

I love H because he can make me laugh, even during the hard times. Like today, when we passed a sign that read "Rhino Housing", and he started making light of it.

H: Look. Rhino Housing.
T: Yes, I see it.
H: Rhinoplasty.
T: Uh huh.
H: Rhino Party.
T: Yeah.
H: Rhinoplasty Party?
T: Rhinoplasticine.
H: Rhinoplasticine housing party! Plasticine rhino's house party!

And thus it progressed. Before long, I was laughing, despite myself. Life goes on.

I love H because he doesn't hesitate to tell me when I am being ridiculous. Like today, when I started searching the animal shelters' adoption banks and pulled up this picture.



A female cat. Medium haired. Three months old. And she looks almost exactly like our dearly departed. So much so, in fact, that H saw the picture displayed on my computer screen and thought someone had emailed me a picture of her.

I immediately wanted to go to the shelter to get her. H stared at me in shock. And then he took my hand, and kindly explained how crazy I sounded. Our household, with a preschooler, an infant, a wife and mother who works outside of the home and is in school and who has a broken knee, a husband and father who works outside of the home and has plans for further schooling, and a healthy 9-year old cat. Our family, grieving the loss of a cherished pet who passed only one day ago. Now is not really the best time to adopt a new pet, is it? And if it were, it is probably not the healthiest choice to adopt a cat that looks exactly like the one who just died, is it? She may look the same, but she is not the same. She will not act the same. Wouldn't I just end up resenting her for not being exactly the same, in every way?

Probably.

I love H because, even though he knew I was being unreasonable, and even though I knew I was being unreasonable, he still let me phone the shelter to ask about the kitten. Who had already been adopted. (Well, of course she had! What cat lover could resist her, really?) He let me phone. Even though he later told me that he really didn't think we would have gotten her, even had she still been there. Because to do would just be crazy. And as much as it pains me to admit it, he was right.

I love H because he was right, even though I didn't really want him to be right. He is logical when I am emotional. And I think that's good.

I love H because he is H. He comforts me when I am sad. He cares for me when I am unwell. He is my best friend. He is my rock.

I love H.

I remember you - the last years

I am sorry to say that we had to put our beloved cat down today. She was 17 years old, and had been living with renal failure since the age of 9. She was getting sicker and sicker, and we were no longer able to keep her comfortable. She had been my cat ever since she was a baby. She was a beautiful and patient animal, who loved to cuddle. She meant a great deal to me; to our whole family. Saying good-bye is very difficult. I loved her, and I will miss her horribly.

Grief sucks.

Note: If you are not a cat person, you may want to just skip over the remainder of this post.

Related posts: I remember you - the middle years; I remember you - the early years

I remember when you got sick. How you lay still, letting me do the things that I knew annoyed you, and I knew right away that you needed help. I remember taking you to emergency, and how scared I was. Okaying the bloodwork and the IV. And I remember crying when I heard your diagnosis of renal failure, and how I broke down when I picked you up after the long weekend and they told me that you were living on borrowed time.

I remember visiting you in the hospital. At emergency, and at your regular vet. You with your little front foot all bandaged up, holding your IV in place. How you would pace around to get petting. How your IV would tangle up and have to be straightened. How you would work so hard to get the attention of other animals around you, so that you could hiss at them while they were looking.

I remember when they had to start force-feeding you, to keep you well. Taking in cans of wet protein-reduced cat food, marinated in the water from cans of tuna, trying to entice you to eat. Feeding you from my fingers; you lapping up the food willingly. But not enough. Never enough. And I remember finding out that they had still force-fed you in my absence.

I remember having to give you subcutaneous fluid shots, and how you decided that you would rather eat off of a china plate than from a bowl. And how you insisted on sitting on a magazine on the floor during mealtimes. The brief period when you made H and I serenade you with appropriate soft dinner music before you would eat. The words to "The Briar and the Rose". And I remember having to force-feed you despite all of those things, whenever you were out of sorts. Your pill cocktail and your special food, that never seemed to be quite enough to keep you going.

I remember calling the vet in desperation and asking if we could feed you cottage cheese and french fries, because I knew you would eat those things, and you would not eat your food. And I remember the vet saying that you needed to be on your special protein reduced catfood, and H and I working so hard to ensure that you got enough nourishment to sustain you.

I remember all the times that I thought we were going to lose you, and how you always pulled through. The tears I cried each time you seemed to worsen, and the relief I felt each time you improved. And I remember the miracle pill, and how much better you felt after that was added into your regimen. We were able to discontinue your fluid and anti-inflammatory shots after that, and force-feeding became an occasional duty, rather than a twice daily chore. Were it not for all the pills and the special food, we would have forgotten that you were even sick.

I remember how you started putting weight back on. And how your energy began to return. And I remember your beautiful fur, that had gotten so thin and dull while you were sick, returning to its lovely full lustre once more. My mom said petting you was like putting her hand in a bag of flour, and she compared your coat to that of a chinchilla.

I remember taking you to your vet appointments, and how they marvelled at how well you were doing. The vet grabbing hold of the skin on your neck and twisting it back and forth madly to show us how well hydrated you were. And the heat wave when you started to lose steam and needed a brief IV to perk you back up. How you snarled at the little children who wanted to pet you, only allowing H and myself near your kennel. The notation on your file of "VERY grumpy today!" And how you would do your little soldier crawl across the table to H or me whenever the vet would try to examine you.

I remember all of the love that you would bestow on us. How you would demand to be as close to us as possible. And how you would lick our hands and then rub the insides of your ears against the wet spot, cleaning your head. That one time when you climbed into H's bathrobe and squirmed down into his sleeve.

I remember how you would climb up on the computer tower. How you would sleep there silently, beside the modem, while I worked on my classes, and I wouldn't even know you were there until I somehow disturbed your slumber. And I remember how you would sometimes spark the computer when you sat too close to its front, making the system restart itself right when I was in the middle of something.

How we'd buy you new collars, and you'd get your foot stuck in them trying to remove them. How you'd climb up on the kitty condo, only to be pushed off by the other cat. How you would chase other cats away from any space that you deemed to be your territory, and how you would climb in the laps of anyone who looked like they might be interested in petting you. Your special game of "chase the ball", where you and your buddy would sit at either end of the stairs and meow at each other until one of you would pounce on a ball, and then you'd both tear around the house trying to get it first. And your honeysuckle treats, that made you so happy.

I remember your companionship through my months of bed rest when I was pregnant with J. How you slept on my tummy, and how nonplussed you were when J would kick. You would just kind of bob up and down, but you never move away. You were a great comfort to me. Anytime I felt sad, I could always count on seeing your little pink nosed whiskered face peering up at me, and I always felt loved and needed at just the sight of you, and it made me happier to see you.

I remember when we brought J home from the hospital. We were so nervous about how you might react to him. But you were so good with the baby. You never hissed or snarled or snapped at him at all. And as he grew bigger, I remember being amazed at your patience with him. How you would allow him to pick you up and carry you around the house, even though you obviously hated it. How you let him snuggle with you, even when you clearly wanted to be alone.

I remember when your miracle pill stopped working as well. You started peeing outside of your litter box. And I remember taking you to the vet and being told that it appeared to be a behavioral problem. Cleaning the floors, replacing the carpets, and trying to repair the warped baseboards that you had damaged. Sticking with you. Trying to get you to go in your litter box exclusively once more.

I remember when I was put on bed rest with N, and how you would come to cuddle with me as I lay still. And I remember how your breath began to smell, knowing that you were getting sicker because of the kidney enzyme smell that came out of your mouth. I wanted to be near you, but I was so nauseous with morning sickness and so sensitive to smells that I couldn't cuddle you the way I wanted to. And I felt so badly about that. I remember how you gravitated to H during that time, and how you stopped really wanting to cuddle with me any longer.

I remember when your once bright green eyes grew dim, and began to leak fluid at the corners. The beautiful sleepy grey streaks by your eyes, now clouded in crustiness. Your fur, thinning and losing its sheen. Your movements slowing. I remember how reluctant you became to climb up the stairs. How you started to make us carry you up and down.

I remember when you stopped wanting to eat, and your weight began to drop off. How you began to throw up several times each and every day. And when you started to poop at the back door or in the basement.

I remember crying when I realized that we were no longer keeping you healthy. That you were 17 years old. That you had survived with renal failure for 8 years, and that perhaps your time had come. I remember struggling with that realization, and finally trying to do what was best for you. I remember making the phone call, and booking your appointment. You were in pain now. I didn't want you to suffer any longer. But I hated making that call, and would have done anything to have avoided it.

I remember how my mom and H didn't want me to go to your appointment. How they thought it would be too hard on me. And how I insisted that I needed to be there for you. You were such a good little cat. Such a good little friend and family member. I loved you so much, and I needed to be there with you at the end so that we could say good-bye. I see that it was the right choice, though it was hard on me.

I remember holding you at the vet, and talking to the doctor. And I remember pleading with them to find another way; to fix you and make you whole again. I remember the doctor telling us that any other way would be selfish. That you would suffer if we waited. That this was the right thing for you. That this would be painless, and that this was what you would want. I remember H and I looking at one another, hopeless and devastated, and reluctantly agreeing that she was right.

I remember those moments, holding you and petting you. I remember your kisses on my hands, me kissing your sweet pink nose those last times. The doctor taking you away to get prepped. Kissing you. Petting you. The shot, and your painless passing. Staying with you for those last moments, carressing your fur, your precious ears. Saying good-bye.

I'll never forget you, my sweet little girl. I am so sorry that we couldn't find a way to keep you with us; that we couldn't find some way to make your pain go away and make you whole and healthy once more. I would have given anything to change it, to bring you home with me.

I'm sorry, my sweet kitty.

But I remember. I remember all of it.

I remember you. Always.

I remember you - the middle years

Note: If you are not a cat person, you may want to just skip over this post.

Related posts: I remember you - the early years

I remember packing you up and moving home. Your first experience in such a large environment. How you weren't sure what stairs were about, and you had to learn to climb them. You picked up on going down the stairs faster than going up.

I remember you and your best friend, the dominant cat, napping in wicker baskets that sat on top of the basement fridge where it was nice and warm. Yours was a little round basket with a handle, and it was lined with a golden sheer curtain instead of a pillow. And you loved to sleep in it. I remember having to fetch your soft rabbit fur mouse out from under that fridge on more than one occasion, because it always ended up there and you always missed your makeshift teddy bear.

I remember taking pictures of you at Christmastime, sitting on the fireplace hearth next to the bright red pointsettia flowers, and how beautiful you looked there. Your pink velour collar that perfectly matched your pretty pink nose. And the little white bell that jingled softly when you moved.

I remember how you loved to cuddle on top of me, under a blanket, whenever I would sit in the big grey recliner chair in front of the TV. How you would fall asleep, and people wouldn't notice that you were under there, and how your soft grey fur blended into the fabric of the chair. How you would meow in that raspy, annoyed little voice of yours whenever you were disturbed. You loved warmth, and would always gravitate to the warmest spot of the house. If I wasn't there to cuddle with, you could usually be found sleeping in a sunbeam or lying on top of a heat register.

I remember how scared you were of my sister's dog. How you would hide in the basement when the dog would be over. And I remember coming home of an evening and finding the dog locked in her kennel, and you sitting on top of the kennel, taunting her through the bars. You were never so brave as when there were no actual threats to your safety.

I remember how much you hated to have your nails trimmed, and how scared you were of strangers and loud noises, like the vacuum cleaner. I remember that day when I was at work and my parents got their carpets cleaned, and how you scratched my dad's arm when he tried to lock you in the laundry room so you wouldn't get out. And then, once he let you out and you were all stressed out from the noise and strangers who had just left, he tried to trim your nails, and you bit him. I remember coming home from work to find my dad's hand and arm all bandaged up, the stitches in his hand, and the antibiotic IV that was running. Dad never let you forget it, but I always stood up for you and told him he brought it on himself. And I stand by it, even now.

I remember moving you again, to another apartment building. And I remember you shyly peering around the corner of the hallway whenever someone new came in, and then hiding away until you felt comfortable with the new person. How you would sit in the window, shielded by the curtains, and meow in obvious annoyance whenever the curtains would be pulled back. And I remember H doing that so often that you decided to stop meowing at him, just so that he would stop.

I remember you and your buddy cat sleeping curled up together in a big foam kitty bed. How close the two of you were. How much you had grown to love one another. And how I had to keep you separate for feedings, much to your chagrin. I remember both of you piling into the bed with me, him curled up by my knees and you tangled up in my hair right behind my head. How you would just sort of adjust yourself to any new position I decided to take through the night, without missing a beat. How you barely even moved in your adjustments, insisting that I move around you so as not to disturb your sleep.

I remember the few occasions when you would play. You, hiding in the box fort you had found in my bedroom, batting at your buddy's tail as he walked by. I remember how he turned and stared you down, and you tried gamely to pretend that you hadn't done anything; that you had just been sitting there calmly cleaning your paw the whole time.

I remember how you slept in the grey chair in the living room during the day and waited for me to come home. I remember how you would knead my upper arm when you wanted to sleep curled up in my armpit, eventually forcing me to move my arm from the pain. And how quickly you would then dart into position, cuddled up against me, for naptime. The first time you did that kneading motion to H, and how frustrated you got that he didn't move his arm quickly enough.

I remember when we lost your buddy. How confused you seemed when I returned from the emergency vet without him. How lonely you appeared for those next few days, until we got you a new friend. And I remember how vehemently you hated that new friend. How you resented his presence in your apartment. How possessive you became. How he was not permitted near your stuff. How you decided that your stuff consisted of two things: the grey chair, and me. I remember how you would chase him away whenever he came near either of those things. And how you grew to love him, despite yourself. I remember the first time I ever heard you purr; you were taught this trick by the new kitty in the house. You'd never known how to do it before.

I remember you going to the vet to get your ear tattoo and coming home all groggy from the anaesthetic. Your new friend, so protective of you. I remember how wobbly you were as you walked around, and the other kitty hopping around after you on three paws, using one front foot to try and steady you. And I remember how he lost his balance and pushed you over.

I remember how you became the courageous one. How we moved to a new apartment. How we weren't sure where you'd disappeared to and how we eventually found you hiding behind your litter box, the larger, newer cat hiding behind you, looking to you for protection. How you ventured out before him, and explored your new digs.

I remember when H came to stay, and you sat in the living room and cried mournfully through the night, sad that he had taken your place. And I remember having to go out to the living room and get you, and how you then realized that you could lie between us in the bed, and that was still okay with you. And though you never curled up in my hair again, I remember how you still slept close-by every chance you got.

I remember how you hated to have your feet touched. How it was the only thing that would get you to snap, and how you would move to bite anyone who came near them. Your feet were so cute, though, and visitors would invariably try to touch them. I remember you snapping at H's brother, and scaring H's nephew when you yawned and made a horribly scary face that showed all your teeth.

I remember the little things. You, perching atop the TV, looking for warmth. Or batting the newspaper out of my hand, demanding petting. You with a plate of cottage cheese. Stealing potato chips out of my hand as they would near my mouth. Taking french fries and holding them between your paws, eating them like little cobs of corn as you sat perched on your hind feet.

I remember all the cuddles. Your purrs, your meows, your kisses, your soft thick fur.

I remember. I remember all of it.

I remember you. Always.

I remember you - the early years

Note: If you are not a cat person, you may want to just skip over this post.

I remember the first time I saw you. So tiny and cute. Adorable little tabby stripes around your eyes, lemur rings around your long tail, your perfect little pink nose, the grey raccoon mask around your beautiful green eyes, not yet opened after your birth. Such a beautiful little girl, with your soft grey and white fur, your thick undercoat making you the softest little kitten I'd ever felt.

I remember driving home, with you sitting on the passenger seat. You were in a red and white cardboard cat carrier. You kept sticking your paws through every available space, and you quickly figured out how to open the top of the carrier. It was a wild drive, as I tried to keep you contained while we were in the car.

I remember bringing you inside. Introducing you to the other cat, the master of the house, who instinctively tried to force you out, and who would soon become your best friend.

I remember how you got lost in my little apartment. How you nearly disappeared in that tiny space under the stove. How you climbed in the hole at the bottom of my hideous old loveseat and hid there. I remember scouring the whole neighbourhood looking for you that one time, my family and friends all trying to find you, late at night, going through alleys and bushes in a rather rough area of town. And I remember returning home defeated, and finding you perched on top of that loveseat wondering what all the fuss was about.

I remember when you decided your litter box was too far from my bed, and you started doing your business on the floor. And I remember having to lock you in the bathroom at night, until you were old enough to be completely litter trained. I remember hearing you cry from inside the bathroom, and how my heart broke with each teeny meow. And I remember how your squeaky little baby meows sounded so much like you were saying "Mommy". And how you slowly outgrew that, and learned to meow properly.

I remember your feisty spirit. Swatting at you when you'd broken the glass in that one framed picture of my grandma. And I remember how you swatted back at me, defending yourself. How you tried to attack that little stray kitten that came into the apartment one night, and how I had to lock him away from you until morning for his own safety. Trying to teach you to walk on a leash and harness system. Your stubborn streak taking over, as you lay on the ground and allowed me to drag you about on your side, refusing to stand up and walk. I remember you sliding down the stairs, because there was no way you were going to walk down them. It just wasn't your style.

I remember all your kisses, the likely result of your being weaned too soon. How you would lick and lick at one spot with your little sandpapery tongue until the skin was all but worn away. How you loved to cuddle. How you'd make a nest for yourself out of my hair and sleep near the back of my neck through the night. How you'd sleep in the crook of my arm, nestled into my armpit, as I watched TV. And I remember how you originally preferred the arm of one of my friends to my own, and how we eventually got past that and bonded.

I remember being told that I was allergic to you. And I remember how I had to lock you out of my bedroom at night for awhile, until I had built up enough of a tolerance to have you with me once more. I remember you standing outside the door, meowing plaintively, begging to be let in. And I remember getting up, just to make sure you were still okay, and how quickly you bolted into the room to be with me.

I remember when you got out. Me, running through the building. Finding you in the basement, lying pressed tight against the bottom step, scared out of your mind, hissing at me as I tried to pick you up. And I remember how you'd get scared when strangers came over, and how you would hide under the bed.

I remember how your legs at one time looked so very long; much too long for your tiny little frame, and how you wobbled when you walked, all disproportionate. I remember how you always looked sleepy, since you had those dark grey streaks of fur in the corners of your eyes, and how that little cowlick on the bridge of your nose made you even cuter.

I remember the first snowfall of your life. Taking you outside so that you could experience it. And I remember that you hated the cold wetness on your feet, and you wanted to be held. I remember holding you, and lifting a little bit of the snow up to your face so that you could see it. And I remember how you sniffed hard, and got the snow up your nose, and how it made you sneeze.

I remember Christmastime. You climbing up the inside of the Christmas tree. Your sweet, easygoing nature. How you didn't even bat an eye when I stuck that Christmas bow on top of your head. And I remember how your buddy, the older cat, came over and swatted it off on your behalf. I remember how reluctant you were to play with any human, preferring instead to just sleep or cuddle. And how you would insist on that closeness at every opportunity.

I remember. I remember all of it.

I remember you. Always.

Feeling better now

Went to visit 'Chelle today, and had some words. All is good. I feel better.

There is something wonderfully freeing about forgiveness. Ever notice that?

Remembrance Day

H and I took J to the Cenotaph this morning for Remembrance Day. It was a good service. We were late, though, as J had a doctor's appointment first. We thought it was unusual that the doctor's office was open today, but it was fine by us; J needed to be seen. He is fine. We finally got to introduce J to H's friend, JL. With his three children and our lives being so busy these days, we have not seen him at all since J's birth. I was glad that we finally got to see him.

This afternoon, I met up with shiny gal and va1kyrie for a tour of Second Cup Country. H looked after J, who fussed and complained, but H managed well. Shiny gal and I saw a unique sign today; H will have to get a picture of it for the blog later. It read "Video STD $0.99". Made me laugh! (As did the fact that my blog's spellcheck system does not recognize the word "blog".)

I have been studying this evening. Working on my last module for the course. I have a quiz to complete by Wednesday, and then I get to start my exam prep. The final is on the 30th, and that is coming up way too quickly. I am nervous.

Tomorrow, we have some errands to run and I have a lot of work to do on my course. But I also need to take some time out to go on a run to 'Chelle's gravesite. Recent newspaper articles have brought up some feelings from my past. The result? I find myself having issues with history this week, and I need to iron them out. Logically, I know that 'Chelle's spirit is not in her grave and she can hear me no better there than she can anywhere else, but the headstone will give me something to talk at, and I feel that I need that just now.

I miss her. Even when I get angry, I miss her.

Song for 'Chelle

Yesterday, it was 12 years since I lost you. I miss you.

Standing on an empty space
Alone, without a clue
Looking for a friendly face;
I looked back and there was you.

And I, sometimes I wondered
What it was that saw you through.
And I, sometimes I wondered
About the friend I'd found in you.
And I, sometimes I wondered
If you'd really be alright
And I wonder if you're somehow here tonight.

Fearing that your heart would break
If you didn't take a stand,
You took all that you could take
But you still held out your hand.

And I, sometimes I wondered
How you kept your peace of mind.
And I, sometimes I wondered
How your soul could be so kind.
And I, sometimes I wondered
When your patience would run dry
And I wonder if you'll soon be stopping by.

Standing on an empty space
Staring through the miles.
So much time I had to waste;
You're gone but I still see your smile.

And I, sometimes I wonder
If your spirit's in the wind.
And I, sometimes I wonder
If the hurt will ever end.
And I, sometimes I wonder
If you really are alright
And I wonder if you're somehow here tonight.

I wonder if you're somehow
Here tonight.

Less than 30

Less than 30 thank-you cards to go now. I hope to be done soon, but somehow, I doubt this will happen. I do procrastinate horribly. But also, and more to the point, I am just terribly busy these days. I try.

Less than 30 days since my friends lost their little boy. I have not been able to speak with them yet; I don't know what to say. I have finally gotten a sympathy card in the mail to them. It was hard enough to get up the strength to write that, but I know it is important. I should have mustered my strength earlier, I know. It's late. I couldn't wait any longer, or it would have been really inappropriate. Hard to think about it, though. Still very sad.

Less than 30 minutes until H is home from work. That will be good.

******************
J has been sleepy today. His teeth are really bugging him, and he hasn't slept well for a few days now. Seems it has finally caught up with him. I hope he sleeps well tonight also.

I got a bit of studying done while J slept today, but not too much. I just couldn't concentrate well. Ear infection and really tired; makes it hard to focus. I do what I can.

I have to get into the office this week. I went on Friday for a bit of a visit, but the partners were all away at a meeting, so I didn't get to see all the people I need to see. I'll try going tomorrow, after new moms network, if J will cooperate.

Tomorrow is the last new moms network meeting. I will miss it. I hope arrangements will be made for us to continue on. It has been really helpful.

Enough blogging now. Other things to attend to. Back to work I go.

J's nemesis

J has decided that the computer is his enemy. And the phone. And my textbook. Really, anything that takes my attention from him is pure evil today, as far as J is concerned. He does not wish to nap in his crib; he wants to be snuggled for naps today. And he does not want me reading, working, or talking to anyone but him while he enjoys his snuggles, napping or otherwise.

So I haven't gotten much done today. And I must confess, I have enjoyed my day tremendously. J is lots of fun to hold and cuddle. I love him so very much! But I do have homework, so can't afford too many days like this one. H will take over this evening, and I'll get some work done.

Tonight, we are getting J the matching hat for his very cool aviator jacket! He should be able to wear his jacket in another month or so; it is really big for him just now. It will still be big on him in a month, but that just means he'll get to wear it for longer. Always best to get more wear out of clothes, I say.

My friends' little boy was laid to rest today. Yet another reason to hold J as much as possible. I feel so sad for my friends, and also very, very lucky to have our little J here with us and healthy. It is a sad, cold, rainy, icky day. And here am I, so blessed.

I am feeling fortunate today. And really, when I stop to consider the grand scheme of things, I have no business to feel otherwise.

Study woes et al

H took J out on the town today so I could get some extra studying done.

I have now (finally) completed all of the required readings for the first module of my course. I need to complete the self-test (it's looooong) in order to feel secure in my knowledge of Module 1. I've briefly started to review the "Summary" section of my on-line course, but it looks more like study material to prepare for the final exam, so I'll work on reviewing that repeatedly at various points in order to study for the exam.

For now, I need to complete the Module 1 self-test and start Module 2. I hope to have that one completed by next weekend, so that I can write the quiz that goes with it on either Saturday or Sunday. There's a timeline for completing each quiz, and I must make certain I get them done and submitted in the window, or I will fail the course.

Now, I wonder if I should run the self-tests after completing each module, or if it would be best to do them as part of my exam prep. My instincts are saying to do them at the end of each module, though, so that's what I had best do. Maybe later this afternoon and/or into the evening, I'll work on the Module 1 self-test. So much to do, and no time. But it will all be worth it in the end. (Better be!)

On a more positive note, H, J and I are going out to meet my dear old friend, PW, for dinner tonight. I haven't seen PW in a very long time, and I'm really looking forward to seeing him. I wish his whole family were in town, but they are not. Hopefully at some point we will get out to see them.

H and J are back home now. J is sleeping peacefully in his carseat, and I'm just taking a breather from studying. I need to break from time to time, or my brain completely numbs and I absorb nothing.

We managed to get our hands on a roof rack for the car from Freecycle! Man, I love that group. We need to arrange to pick it up this week. I look forward to getting it.

Still no word on funeral arrangements for my friends' little boy. I take this to mean that they would prefer to have family only attend the funeral. Still hurting for them, but taking things as they come. I don't have a great deal of time to stop and/or think about things. This is probably a good thing right about now.

On a less self-centered vent, I can't believe it has only been four years since the 9-11 tragedy. It seems so long ago, but it was not. So much has happened in the world since then. Things have been too eventful. I am certain that it wasn't always like this. What happened to my world?

Sadness

My friend's little one passed away tonight. He was born in July with a lung impairment termed a "C-Cam". His prognosis was not good from the start, but there was still hope.

I am very sad for my friend and his wife, and I don't know how they will cope. I have been told that they are both doing well but that they have requested no contact at this time. I understand.

My heart hurts.