Well, it’s been nearly 3 months since I last posted…amazing how time just sneaks away when you’re not looking. The weeks and months since Christmas have been an adjustment around our house, for the better in some ways and worse in others.
Severus and I flew to Oregon on Christmas Day to enjoy some oceanic therapy. It really is amazing what being oceanfront can do for the soul! It’s also amazing what falling into the ocean can do to an iPhone 6—not good amazing. Fortunately, we still had an upgrade on our contract so my waterlogged, 3-month-old phone has been replaced and I’m back up and running. Here’s a little peek at what that dip in the Pacific looked like.
Unfortunately, we’ve not yet been able to recover the photos/videos that hadn’t yet loaded to the cloud. That in itself wouldn’t be a big deal except that it was our last Christmas with Vampire Kitty. We got frequent reports from my mom (who was housesitting) that Storm wasn’t eating. We had hoped it was a simple matter of her being a cat and protesting our absence. When we returned home on New Years Day we found that wasn’t the case. After several days of syringe-feedings, we took her back to the vet’s office and learned she was losing weight at an alarming rate. On Friday, January 9, a bitey little soul left our lives; melodramatic though it is, I haven’t been quite the same since.
Storm and I were almost like halves of a whole. She was both a BFF and nemesis. She slept right beside me at night, joined me as I prepared for work each morning and greeted me at the door when I arrived home. In spite of all that togetherness—or perhaps because of it—she also lashed out and bit me with regularity. Given all of the wounds she inflicted over the years, I feel secure in saying that we shared a bond forged in blood.
Those first few weeks found me nearly inconsolable. Translation: there was a whole lot of ugly crying! For heaven’s sake, I’ve got misty eyes again now just thinking about it. That’s why it’s taken me so long to get back in the swing of blogging; I dreaded having to write this post but couldn’t pretend like it didn’t happen or have a tremendous impact on my world.
She was just a cat, and she was kind of a jerk of one at that, but she was my little jerk. Things have steadily improved and we’ve welcomed a new little family member that I’ll introduce soon. Still, the Storm-shaped void aches with fluctuating intensity and, like any grief, finds the most obscure ways to resurface.
Today marks 1 year since Uncle Pete passed from this life on to eternity. I wanted to write some brilliant eulogy, to effectively capture his spirit, to express all that he meant to me and make you all wish that you had known him… But I got distracted.
So here’s something I put together in Photoshop instead 🙂
It’s been two months and four days since my uncle Pete left behind the worries of this world.
Today would have been his 55th birthday.
And the fantastic thing of it is that they still are!
In spite of the circumstances, Sherry carries on the joyful essence of their relationship and what it means to all of us. Even in her sorrow, she radiates the love and good humor that were once carried by two.
Sherry is stronger than she realizes and more inspiring than she’ll ever know.
Among countless other things, Pete and Sherry taught me how to imitate a richy-rich, snobby voice (imagine the Howells from Gilligan’s Island). Saying the most mundane things this way still reduces me to a pile of giggles.
From them, I learned to appreciate nice, long conversations held on the front porch or deck. Time is better spent outside, away from the television.
They instilled in me the therapeutic value of intermingling serious subjects and gut-busting funnies. The most beneficial laughter often accompanies tears.
Pete repeatedly demonstrated that even annoying commercials can be funny when irreverently taken out of context—he had a habit of hilariously singing and dancing like the guys in the old Nextel commercial or muddling through jingles like the McDonald’s Filet-o-Fish song.
Above all, they provided a glimpse at the beautiful result of spouses treating each other like respective kings and queens. They carried as much respect for one another as they did love.
That’s something that neither could have done without the other.
That’s something I will forever cherish.
I’ve had a little trouble collecting my thoughts over the last week or so. There’s plenty of material to share, from funny Pete & Sherry memories and life lessons to tales of mob mentality at an ornament collectors’ event I worked the day before Pete’s passing.
Hoping to get it all out of my head after I push past a couple of deadlines at work.
In the meantime, I offer this video of my doggies being silly…
“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times.”
(The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien)
There’s nothing particularly endearing to me about the Lord of the Rings saga, save for Samwise Gamgee’s unwavering loyalty to Frodo. Nevertheless, this exchange with Gandalf strikes a chord.
None of us ever really wants to face tragedy. Sure, we may have some strange inclination towards fictional accounts in action/drama/post-apocalyptic fare and we may even give in to gawker syndrome when passing an accident scene, but the vast majority of our species does not genuinely wish to see suffering.
And yet, we are privy to tragedy and pain on a daily basis, be it on a personal or global scale. The bad in life seems to happen so frequently that we can become indifferent to it. It’s only when the pain hits close to home or in a shocking, unexpected way that we pause and truly mourn.
This morning, for the first time in my life, I awoke in a world where Uncle Pete does not share his smile. Just shy of a year after his terminal diagnosis, the cancer became too much for his body to handle. It is now my turn to mourn.
On Friday afternoon, I received word that Pete had been moved to a hospice facility. My extended family had already planned to come to town on Saturday, so I joined them that evening. I expected it would be a difficult visit, but I couldn’t have imagined the degree to which I had underestimated.
Severus and I sat with Pete and Sherry for about ten minutes Saturday night. What do you say to a dying man who is physically little more than a shell of the person you’ve always known? Naturally, I told him he looked good (to which he replied “under the circumstances”). I told him that he was a trouble-maker and a brat; he said I was a brat, too 🙂
When he got fidgety and started pulling at his oxygen tube, I lectured him not to be like Papaw—who had died after pitching a fit about not needing the oxygen and throwing his mask across the room. In typical Pete fashion, a Papaw-esque fit ensued…followed by a devious little smirk and “hee hee.” He then told me to sit down (in as close to a Papaw imitation as he could muster). We bantered a little more, but much of his mumbling was incoherent and I could tell he was hurting.
Not knowing what else to say, I suggested that we let Pete get some rest. After kissing him on the cheek and discreetly slipping a note into his breast pocket (I’ve no idea if Sherry read it to him), we walked to the door.
“See you soon,” I said.
“Are you coming back tomorrow?” he managed to squeak out.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said she who was on the verge of tears.
But I didn’t make it back in time.
When we got out of church Sunday morning, I had a voicemail from my mom and text message from my dad—”Pete’s home now.”
In the days ahead, I hope to detail some of the lessons I learned from my uncle and the example he and my aunt set. In the meantime, my duty is to help Aunt Sherry as much as I can. Her transition from wife to widow is not an easy one; I pray that she will feel peace and comfort.