This entry is scheduled to post on my blog while I’m at lunch with two friends who have happy plans ahead that will take them away from southern California. Two friends who I might not see for a very long time. I’m feeling a bit emotional about it right now…
These are the friends who stepped in last summer to care for TobyJoy-kitty as her health declined. I was alone and at my wit’s end and so so tired. Their gift was such a huge one. Here’s a reprint of the post that I wrote after that event (and for those who are interested in more of the TobyJoy saga, the post I wrote just after she died).
We returned home last night after an absolutely wearying day of travel. It was a day where we where often singled out of for “extra ” security checks, where we stood in lines for hours at each transfer point, where the ridiculousness of it all nearly pushed me over the edge a few times. All in all, a good sign that it was time to be home and to return to some semblance of our own daily rhythm.
Waking up this morning in my own bed and the exact time (even w/o an alarm clock) that I usually do each morning…just felt so right! Irvine’s humidity is so delicious. the familiar birds chirping outside are my birds,” and so forth.
So…
We came home to something so important I’m not even sure that I can write about it cogently (and if this doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, you can chalk it up to jetlagged delusion). Two weeks ago, just as we were preparing to leave on our trip, our beloved kitty TobyJoy had a severe neurological incident. So severe that she needed round the clock care. And as our lives were completely derailed by concern for her, we knew that we were also about to leave the country on this trip to England that was so super-important to my kids–both of whom are Anglophiles, and one whose biggest wild dream is to start boarding school in Wales next year. We were faced with this horrible catch-22 situation. TobyJoy needed to be brought to a quiet controlled environment if there was any chance of her healing, because over-stimulation was causing more seizures of the kind that initially caused her brain damage, but she was in such a state that she could hardly be cared for by anyone other than a family member. Boarding in her in a kennel simply wasn’t a good option. It was super hard for us to see Toby so ill (if you’ve never met her–it’s hard to imagine a cat with a more whimsical quirky character), and we were just aching with seeing her hooked up to tubes and so deeply drugged that she wasn’t aware of her surroundings. We wondered if it woudn’t be more humane to put her to sleep than to continue her medical trauma (and at that point it wasn’t even clear that she would ever eat or drink on her own again).
So..as all of these ideas were on the table and I was trying to make decisions, a dear friend who is studying neurology, whose research is specifically on small mammals, stepped in and offered to care for Toby so we could go to England.
She (along with her partner and some other friends), developed a round-the-clock schedule for caring for Toby once she was released from the ER. She ferried Toby to vet appointments, cleaned up after numerous toileting problems, prepared a specialized diet, and administered a dizzying amount of meds every day. All while we were traipsing the British countryside. Our friend wrote daily updates, sent videos, and worked with our vet to troubleshoot problems.
When we came home last night and met Toby, we found a kitty that’s still suffering from occasional seizures, but recognized Catgirl, held her tail high as she explored, vocalized pleasure at being around our family again, and now remembers how to use the litterbox. In short, she seems happy. Certainly a bit different than before, but happy.
As I tried (and failed) to express to our friend just how much it meant to us to have her care for Toby, she simply replied, “Your family had this summer planned where you were all out pursuing your dreams…I wanted you to be able to do that…”
Anything I try to write now, can’t even touch the goodness of that gift.
Today GameBoy turns 17 years old. I can hardly wrap my head around that fact, and I marvel at the man that he’s become. I couldn’t be more proud of him.
When John left, he took most of the books and most of the bookshelves. Which was okay with me. I was ready for something new, and the books seemed so heavy, such a burden. Both in physical weight and in the weight of memory. I kept my professional books–moving them to my office at Chapman. And I have two shelves of personal books in my bedroom. But for the most part, the books are gone from my space.
So I’ve been working on re-doing my living room in the meantime. I wanted it to be artful and comfortable, yet also have very clean lines. And while it’s still a work-in-progress, this is how it now looks (this is the very same wall that used to be covered in books):
The art on the walls is mostly done by the children, with the portraits on the end being painted by my Aunt. I love that it still retains the whimsical feel of the earlier rainbow bookshelves. I also love just how much it still feels like home.
This weekend was filled with a multitude of pleasures (that I’m recalling while sipping my afternoon cuppa):
the thrill of a travel adventure, with places new and old
the Museum of Jurassic Technology, followed by tea and cakes with founder David Hildebrand Wilson
giggling (over and over again)
slurping on kosher dills at Junior’s
sunsets
celebrating a friend’s birthday, full of good fortune(s)
breakfasting on Eggs Benedict (yum, Hollandaise)
driving and singing
learning the secret ingredient for some famous guacamole
decoupage art (and a decoupage artist) coffee with cardamom, after a morning of paddling in the sunshine
There were moments as I drove down Santa Monica Boulevard where the memories were so potent that I was knocked back and forth in time. I was there. I had been there. When things were different. When people were different. When trajectories were different. The 405 freeway. The familiar landmarks. The taste of deli food.
And I knew I would always remember, but it would never be the same again. And I didn’t want it to be.
She sent out for one of those short, plump little cakes called petites madeleines, which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted scallop of a pilgrim’s shell. And soon, mechanically, weary after a dull day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory – this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me. … Whence did it come? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it? … And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before mass), when I went to say good morning to her in her bedroom, my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it. And all from my cup of tea.
A whole slew of friends came over last weekend to help me “break in” my new couch. If you haven’t yet made it over, I hope you’ll consider dropping by–it’s a very comfy place to sit with a cup of tea and solve the problems of the universe. 🙂
Toby-cat was a gift from my garden. A stray that I’d seen but couldn’t catch. I told a friend that I’d seen a wee kitten haunting my plot, and within a few days this friend brought a clawful unhappy bundle to my front porch:
I remember Toby well — from the moment when she was still just a rumor (“Hey, I think I saw a little kitten wandering around in the gardens! Have you seen it?”) to the first time when I actually met that little rumor face to face (I was down on all fours weeding Y’s garden, so it literally was face to face) and how, — after several false starts — I finally scooped her up in my clothes and brought her, mewing and scratching, to your door.
She was a scrawny little thing, but I just knew, from the loving and concerned way that you’d first told me about her, that you cared so much about her and that your home would be an welcoming place for her.
“Quirky but lovable” — that’s how I’d describe her. It’s not a bad description for us either. 🙂
We later learned that Toby’s history included an unhappy adoption from the shelter to a family with small children. She was wary and troubled. She quickly learned to love but one soul in this world, and that was our Catgirl.
This evening our vet put our TobyJoy to sleep, after her seizures had escalated to the point where further control with medication seemed unlikely. Her seizures started again a few days ago–small ones at first, then morphing into body-wracking shakes that contorted her small frame backwards and forwards.
Last night when Toby’s seizures began to escalate I texted John, unsure of whether it was appropriate to ask for his support. We exchanged a few messages as Toby writhed in my arms, and as her legs became paralyzed. I was so confused. I didn’t know whether to lean on John–as I had so many times before–or whether this was my own burden to carry. All I knew was that I was hurting and I couldn’t figure out who else to call on. For the past two decades when I’ve been weak, John has stepped in to “fix” the problem, to offer solace, to help me to decide what to do.
As I wavered with indecision, Toby was curled in a ball on my chest–so much like my babies did when they were little. Feeling her weight, wrapping my hands securely around her body, I settled into an armchair and sang some songs. I stroked her fur and told her how much I loved her. I rocked back and forth. I was unsure of what else to do but just be there with her. I alternately prayed she would die and then prayed that she would live. I cried. I hoped. I wondered. And eventually…the morning came. When I needed help getting her into her crate for transport to the animal hospital, I chose to call on my friends rather than John.
Within a few hours John joined me at the vet to ascertain the extent of Toby’s ailment and we decided to put her to sleep to ease her pain. I sat, and John stood uncomfortably nearby as Toby’s doctor explained the procedure and our options. I signed the paperwork. Because Toby-cat was so ill, we got no last visit or chance to say good-bye.
When we settled the bill in the foyer (tears sliding down my cheeks) and reviewed the charges with the cashier, I pointed out some details to John and called him “sweetie.” It was pure instinct to address him that manner (as I always had). The endearment spoken as we stood side by side, working through something hard together. I instantly regretted my slip, not knowing if he had even noticed it, but at the same time feeling an even greater loss than a moment before when all I was mourning was our sweet kitten.
We then walked out to our separate cars, me carrying Toby’s crate and collar.
I moved back to my home last Saturday. Which is now more my home than it ever has been–the majority of John’s stuff being gone, as well as the half of our property that he took along with him to his new life. As far as these things go, I’d say that the transition has been a fairly smooth one. But it is also strange how this all plays out on a day-to-day basis…so I thought I’d list a few of my experiences this week to illustrate how things are going this far…
Bought new bedlinens. I kept our bed (which I love), but it seemed a necessary thing to make a substantive change to make it ‘mine’ rather than ‘ours.’
Speaking of ‘ours’…a friend noticed that I still use this word when discussing my home. It’s a hard habit to break.
At the local rock climbing gym, several people hailing me as “John’s wife.” Explaining to them that I am no longer John’s wife, and trying to ignore the uncomfortable pause at the end of that interaction. But supposing that they’ll remember to call me Jana the next time we meet.
The challenge of my attempts to cook in the kitchen. I open cupboards to retrieve familiar implements and ingredients, only to find them gone. Or perhaps moved to a place where I haven’t found them yet. It will take some time before I know my way around that once-familiar space again.
Filling out permission slips for a field trip for the kids. Realizing that the familiar blanks of those forms are now filled out differently with two parents in two different homes. Just one more thing to get used to.
A note from an LDS friend, inviting me back to Mormon church. (Sigh). For the record: I have no desire to be LDS now that we’re divorcing. If anything, just the opposite.
Having primary custody of the children. Loving that they are nearly always home when I am and enjoying how good it feels to hug them when I walk in the door after work and before we all go to bed at night.
Going clothes shopping with a friend who encouraged me to move outside my familiar and somewhat conservative ‘Mom’ style. Shopping at stores that I haven’t been in since I was a teenager, and letting go of the feeling that I need to ‘dress my age.’
Coming across a folder of cards from John, including the one he wrote me on the two-month anniversary of our marriage that says “it’s like living in a dream to be eternally married to you….”. Remembering just how young and naive we were then and wondering…wondering…but also knowing that the what-ifs simply don’t matter now.
Tobykitty’s health stabilizing one more time. Appreciating that the loss of her is not combined with all of the other losses in our family right now. Pondering just how many more lives she has to left to spare (fingers crossed).
Two different friends noticing that I am constantly apologizing (for the strangest things, like tonite when I apologized for my dinner smelling so good). A habit I’ve slipped into over the past few years that will take some time undo…
Taking down the photos of us still hanging on my walls. Seeing the tender notes from John written on the backs of frames. Wondering what the hell I am supposed to do with this memorabilia now. Toss? Keep? Burn?
Having an in-person conversation with John about one of our children (our first live interaction in quite awhile). Our shared concern filling the space between us. Considering how our love for our kids continues to bind us to each other.
This big empty living room where I am now typing. I have the intention to go and buy a couch and some art for the empty walls, but I’d rather just be ‘home’ right now. Retail therapy leaves me feeling so empty afterward.
The indentation of my wedding ring that still lingers on the 4th finger of my left hand.
Navigating the holiday season while going through this divorce hasn’t been easy. It’s been a time of making new traditions rather than remembering the old…
“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one…wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket–safe, dark, motionless, airless–it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”
~C.S. Lewis
Photo above is from Christmas 2005. Now the kids are as tall as that Christmas tree–no chair necessary! 🙂
This is probably the last picture of our family, taken about a month ago. We were picking up some dinner at Taco Mesa before the kids had some school-related activities. John snapped this pic and posted it to Twitter, while making some comment about how “nothing really happened unless it was photographed and tweeted.”
At this point I’d already sent John the first volley in the email conversations that would be the catalyst for his decision to leave. I was awaiting his reply while life carried on rather normally on the surface of things.
We returned home last night after an absolutely wearying day of travel. It was a day where we where often singled out of for “extra ” security checks, where we stood in lines for hours at each transfer point, where the ridiculousness of it all nearly pushed me over the edge a few times. All in all, a good sign that it was time to be home and to return to some semblance of our own daily rhythm.
Waking up this morning in my own bed and the exact time (even w/o an alarm clock) that I usually do each morning…just felt so right! Irvine’s humidity is so delicious. the familiar birds chirping outside are my birds,” and so forth.
So…
We came home to something so important I’m not even sure that I can write about it cogently (and if this doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, you can chalk it up to jetlagged delusion). Two weeks ago, just as we were preparing to leave on our trip, our beloved kitty TobyJoy had a severe neurological incident. So severe that she needed round the clock care. And as our lives were completely derailed by concern for her, we knew that we were also about to leave the country on this trip to England that was so super-important to my kids–both of whom are Anglophiles, and one whose biggest wild dream is to start boarding school in Wales next year. We were faced with this horrible catch-22 situation. TobyJoy needed to be brought to a quiet controlled environment if there was any chance of her healing, because over-stimulation was causing more seizures of the kind that initially caused her brain damage, but she was in such a state that she could hardly be cared for by anyone other than a family member. Boarding in her in a kennel simply wasn’t a good option. It was super hard for us to see Toby so ill (if you’ve never met her–it’s hard to imagine a cat with a more whimsical quirky character), and we were just aching with seeing her hooked up to tubes and so deeply drugged that she wasn’t aware of her surroundings. We wondered if it woudn’t be more humane to put her to sleep than to continue her medical trauma (and at that point it wasn’t even clear that she would ever eat or drink on her own again).
So..as all of these ideas were on the table and I was trying to make decisions, a dear friend who is studying neurology, whose research is specifically on small mammals, stepped in and offered to care for Toby so we could go to England.
She (along with her partner and some other friends), developed a round-the-clock schedule for caring for Toby once she was released from the ER. She ferried Toby to vet appointments, cleaned up after numerous toileting problems, prepared a specialized diet, and administered a dizzying amount of meds every day. All while we were traipsing the British countryside. Our friend wrote daily updates, sent videos, and worked with our vet to troubleshoot problems.
When we came home last night and met Toby, we found a kitty that’s still suffering from occasional seizures, but recognized Catgirl, held her tail high as she explored, vocalized pleasure at being around our family again, and now remembers how to use the litterbox. In short, she seems happy. Certainly a bit different than before, but happy.
As I tried (and failed) to express to our friend just how much it meant to us to have her care for Toby, she simply replied, “Your family had this summer planned where you were all out pursuing your dreams…I wanted you to be able to do that…”
Anything I try to write now, can’t even touch the goodness of that gift.