Loss

Farewell, Miracle, Our Miracle

Aside ~ ~ lifeontheskinnybranches

Today I celebrate the extraordinary life of our sweet Miracle.

We helped her leave her weak body yesterday afternoon after an agonizing early day. We’d had the gift of 8 extra months with her thanks to fluids and meds; last June at the vet’s she was diagnosed with kidney failure and either IBD or lymphoma.

I swore three things that awful day: that I would not keep her around just for my sake if it was no longer good for her; I’d not take her to the vet’s again if I could help it. (Of all my cats, she truly hated it and it took years off of her life each time when she was healthy, no way I was going to do that with her remaining time. They gave her 3-5 months. We got 8.)

And above all, I hoped when it was time, I’d know, and we’d get someone to come to our apartment to help her pass. (Well, actually, to Miracle’s apartment. She just let us live there.)

Well, I never took her in to the vet’s again. I gave her fluids and meds at home each day. We had a great 8 months, give or take some bumps in the road and difficult, challenging times of questioning “Is it time?” (Anyone who’s gone through this knows how it is: awful at times. Wonderful at others.)

And when it was no longer gonna be good for her, she and I both knew. And miraculously, thanks to an angel vet, we were able to hold her as she slept between us (her favorite spot) as she peacefully left her very sick body. I hated letting her go, and I knew it was right. And because I love her so, I helped her leave.

Thank you, Miracle, for your magic. I will see you in the moon and feel your spirit in our home and in my heart always. You inspired a poem https://lifeontheskinnybranches.com/2018/05/15/ode-to-miracle/ and a blog post https://lifeontheskinnybranches.com/2017/07/02/miracle-of-miracles/ and so much more. (Miracle’s story is amazing – read it . I was darn lucky she deigned to love me.)

Thank you angel vet for helping me see through my promises to her. (Thank you Instavet.com.) The angel vet was so caring, respectful of our process, humane and supportive.

Thank you Mary Oliver for putting into words, this part of love.

To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.

Mary Oliver

Tropical Sense

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When I was a young girl, someone gave me a very small solid of perfume.

I think that it might have been my great grandmother who brought it back from a trip to Hawaii.

She had lost her husband before I was born and traveled extensively in her later life. Quite an independent, adventuresome woman for her time. She had amazing style – dressed impeccably and decorated her Texas apartment with an elegance that was unique.

I was very young – maybe 5 years old. But I loved it. I was both a girlie girl and a Tomboy from day one, though I outwardly presented only as the former, and eventually, sadly, the Tomboy in me was abandoned by me in order to fit in/gain acceptance.

The perfume smelled like tropical smells – I think Gardenia was very much in the forefront.

It came in a small round plastic case the color if the Seafoam Green Crayon – remember that? I loved that too. That color only came in the 64 crayon size box – it seemed so luxurious, that crayon.

So it felt very grown up and special to have that perfume.

My grandmother was charismatic and quite the lady. I loved and feared her: she was very invested in etiquette and manners. She called me wiggle Worm. I guess I was naturally filled with vibrant impulses. She was the start of my socialization, and I learned to suppress that energy, to strive poise.

Eventually, the solid ran down until only the case was left, which eventually I lost.

But over the years, and to this day, I recall that smell. Intermittently, I have tried to find it again. I’ve longed for that scent, the exotic smell of far away tropical paradise.

I recently found a scent that is the closest I have come so far. It is not exact, but close.

I still hope to find the original again someday.

Perhaps I am looking to claim that half-girl, half-boy I was. To reclaim that vibrancy, those physical impulses.

Perhaps on a trip to Hawaii I will find it again? And those parts of myself? Wouldn’t that be amazing.

What has been a significant scent in your life? Why?

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On the Road Again

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My husband and I are driving a Penske truck filled with furniture from our last apartment In the Bronx, NY to Texas. We’ve made this trip before.

Last time, we drove the opposite way with the same furniture from my parents’ home just after we were married 8 years ago, just after my Dad died, a year after my brother died and two years after my mother did.

I was so grateful for that furniture at the time. Newly married, making a home with someone for the first time, I was thrilled to have really nice things to bring to our shared space, a new apartment we’d chosen together.

Having lived in a tiny studio apartment in the West Village of NYC for 18 years prior to this big change, I had no furniture to speak of. My husband had some nice things to bring from his place, but not enough. We were stretching our budgets to get our apartment. New furniture was not in the plan. So my parents was a blessing.

It was amazing how perfectly the furniture all worked together. We chose rich colors for the walls off of the colors in the rugs, and somehow, it all had an eclectic warmth that just felt right. So “us,” somehow. The us we were becoming.

For the first years of our marriage, in those years after those huge losses in which I grieved and lived as best I could, that furniture surrounded me and held me and filled the empty gaping hole their deaths left.

I cherished it all. I had my father’s bronzed baby cowboy boots as book ends. A china cabinet held bluebirds, brown ware and silver pieces from my mother’s collections. We ate off of plates and used pans brought up from their kitchen. Put drinks on coasters from their den.

Our bedroom furniture was from my parents first house. The first expensive rug they bought, a now-worn but still lovely Oriental, sat under their gorgeous dark wood dining table and chairs.

But somewhere along year 6, something began to shift in me, and now, 18 months later, after a Konmari wave that washed away my clutter, a new apartment search, offer, and purchase, a renovation, putting an apartment on the market, a sale, a closing, a move, and a settling in, here I am. Day two of a three day journey to take much of that furniture to a new home.

My cousin, who my parents loved, who has a lovely wife and two young kids and a house, is happily taking the furniture off my hands. Whatever he did not take, others in NY needed and wanted.

Tomorrow we reach Austin, where the pieces will be put in their new home.

And I will let go. Of the grieving time. Of the me that has lived these 8 years in the after-shock, doing my best.

I feel such a mix of sadness and relief and excitement. Sadness because I still wish they were here instead of their things. Relief because something is done that I seem to have needed to do. Some job I unconsciously took on will soon be complete. And excitement is for this next part, whatever it will be.

Today I crave space. I want to be surrounded by things that resonate the me I am today. Our new home in no way resembles our last. And I love it with its new colors and furniture, and kickass river views.

I kept one chair out of it all. And reupholstered it. It looks wonderful there, surrounded by our new pieces, our new rugs.

At the end of the first day’s drive, we were treated to a blazing orange sky. Since my mother passed, I am convinced that beautiful sunsets are her way of letting me know she is there, loving me. It was clear that she, my Dad and brother, approve of this trip.

My parents and brother are still with me. But now they fill my heart space. I carry them wherever I go.

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Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown(-through?)

Aside ~ ~ lifeontheskinnybranches ~ 9 Comments

Fifteen months ago, I began a deep letting go process.

I was very sick, suffering from an unexplained exhaustion that kept me housebound for much of the summer.

Coincidentally, for a year my husband and I had been waiting for a larger apartment in our building to become available. We were happy where we were. We just wanted another bedroom and a larger kitchen.

In the beginning of this “sick summer,” one of these larger apartments became available. It was being sold unlisted, by the owner, who would not price it. “What will you pay for it?” he asked.

And so I began to look around, to see what was in the neighborhood that was comparable, to get an educated idea of the value of the apartment.

And along the way, I began to see possibilities that I had never even let myself imagine for us.

I saw apartments, alright. And some not with just an additional room and larger kitchen.

I saw some with balconies and a gorgeous view of the river! With a seasonal pool!

What?!

For us?

Could we?

Who were we to have such niceness?

It was a real stretch for my husband and I to imagine buying such an apartment.

The move we had been considering before this exploration of what was out there in our ‘hood would have been almost lateral. If we’d gotten that apartment in our building, we’d have basically recreated the apartment we have had these 8 years since marrying. I am pretty sure we’d literally have just brought over everything, just changed the kitchen and added a room.

We’ve both loved the home we made together. Somehow, his furniture and the furniture we brought up from my parents’ houses in Texas after my Dad died three months before our marriage all blended into an eclectic, beautiful style.

We have loved our home.

But I now realize that even before the summer, I had been working towards this letting go, this deep clean, this moving on, this full-on “now” presence in my own adult life.

In January I did a sweep of all my things and let go of a great deal. Yes, I applied as much of the Konmari technique as I could, and it was amazing, and freeing. I even finally went into stuff in storage and let it all go…stuff from my parents’ house I had not been able to deal with or use that had sat there since 2010.

I thought, great! I did it! My therapist and I applauded my actions.

And yet. I was still surrounded by furniture and other things that were my parents’, my mother’s, my grandmother’s. And I could feel the heaviness of it.

And so somehow, unconsciously, this drive to move took over. We daringly made an offer on the apartment with the view. It was accepted.

Uh oh.

This was not a lateral move. It was a stretch up. Way up.

We hired an interior designer to help. What?! Who am I?

(I call him the wedding coordinator I did not let myself have. Brilliant call.)

And I made a Big Decision: We. Would. Get. All. New. Furniture.

All my parents’ stuff? Letting it go! But how?! Some stuff can go to the Salvation Army, but my parents’ stuff?? Most of our furniture I couldn’t bear to give to strangers.

In December, impulsively, my cousin, who loved my parents and has a wonderful wife and two little kids, happened to take a trip up here from Texas for a weekend. I asked if they’d mind looking at our stuff to see if they might want anything down the road.

Miraculously, they agreed to take most of it. They were thrilled! (I was elated!)

Other friends who just happened to be buying new, larger homes who were in need and interested are taking the rest.

It makes me so happy for it to go to people who will use and love it. To not have it sit in storage, unused.

I have kept just one item. An upholstered chair that had been my great grandmother’s, that I had climbed up into as a toddler in my grandma’s house. A chair that my mother had kept. A chair that I have always loved.

We have had it reupholstered and the wood frame repainted. It had to be basically remade. (My husband still thinks it a bit crazy of me.)

I cannot wait to see it with the beautiful new pieces that we chosen for our new home. It gives me a deep joy, and I feel love around it.

We are on the precipice of actually moving in now. We closed on the apartment one year ago. Began renovating it in January.

Most of the process has been relatively smooth: the getting financing, board approval in the new building. The renovation. The decisions. The shopping. The decorating.

Putting our current apartment on the market. Going into contract.

Our current apartment closes next week.

And so here I am, packing and sorting. The move is actualizing now. What has been theory up until now is happening.

I have let go of most things. The rugs/furniture are all spoken for. Most doodads have been given away.

But some I just could not part with yet. Things of my mothers that were in a china cabinet that will now go to my cousin’s.

I have these things in a few small boxes in storage. They won’t be in the new place. I really want to let them go. I just find it so hard to give them to a thrift store. But I am working towards it.

My mother’s china, my cousin wants. Yay! But these other things…

I now realize some part of me is afraid I will wish for them someday. When I am old and alone, won’t I want to be surrounded by proof I lived and was loved?

And deeper yet: if I let these things go, does it make me a bad daughter? Does it mean I loved my parents less?

Am I a bad person if I do not keep the little blue bird figurines my mother collected?

Will she feel forgotten or unappreciated if I just let them go?

Who am afraid it will hurt?

These are difficult questions. There is reconciling to do, which doesn’t happen overnight.

Maybe Konmari can do it swiftly, the way she does.

I am doing the Curry Technique for this final bit. I am in a life/shifting, deep dive excavation of my very soul. I have been living this process that has been 18 months in the making to get here now, on the verge of really letting go of all this physical evidence of my parents and brother, now dead some years.

Of really moving on from these years of grieving. These years of finding a new paradigm. Of finding a new footing in this world without three very key people in it.

It has gotten quite challenging here at the end. We’ve had some new apartment issues. The new wood floor has buckled in places. The central AC’s leaked.

What does it mean? What is it reflecting about our process? The floor is literally the very foundation of our home. The leak? Is it literal tears?

These issues at this point have felt overwhelming. Like the last 6 miles of a marathon.

(I have had fantasies of selling the apartment and all the new stuff in it as is and living out of one suitcase somewhere. Yesterday I had to force myself to drive home. Everything in me wanted to drive away and never return. Seriously.)

Yet here I am. Putting one foot in front of the other. Showing up. Letting go daily.

I am continuing to walk to the edge of this precipice.

Here I am. On the verge.

And soon, in just days, I will leap.

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Eyes Wide Shut

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For the gathousandth time

I look in my own eyes

Searching for a glimpse of her

The girl I was

All I see is shadowy pain

Dimmed promise

Blighted hope

Battered belief

I search still

Who is left in there

Whose pain is being reflected

Whose fatigue

Whose caution and fear

If eyes are the window to the soul

It’s time to move

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The Move

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It looked great on the surface of it.

A new apartment, with a gorgeous view. I mean, who wouldn’t say yes to that?

I did. I was the instigator of this move. I did the apartment searching. The financing work.

And so here we are. A year after purchasing, and months of renovations. Renovations that we planned to take at most 6 months that are now at 8.

And our current apartment is in contract. Our buyers were just approved to move in by the board of the co-op.

We will be getting dates for closing any day now, and then we will move into our beautiful new apartment with its dream view.

All good, right?

And yet.

I. AM. NOT. PACKING. YET.

(Much to my husband’s consternation and confusion.)

I mean, I have been the instigator of all this upheaval.

I decided to totally redecorate and choose new furniture for the new apartment. To find new homes for the furniture that we have loved the past 8 years together in this first home we are now in and about to leave.

This was major, because most of the furniture came from my deceased parents’ home. It was oddly perfect timing, my father passing away after my mother and 3 months before our wedding. I have been surrounded these 8 years in our home by furniture that comforted me, held me…gave me a nest, truly.

And yet, here I am, ready to let it all go. My cousins are taking the pieces I would never be able to just give away to anybody. Close friends with kids are taking other pieces, which feels so right and good. Other people my husband knows are inheriting some things, which they need, want and are thrilled about, and that makes me happy.

The new furniture has been bought, and I love it.

I visit our new home and am stunned at how lovely it is going to be.

And yet.

We are literally half out of our current place. My husband is packing most of what is left. Things are in boxes or are already gone. We are half in and half out. Limbo.

What. Is. Going. On. With. Me. And. This. Resistance.

I find myself wanting to stay in this limbo land. I feel as if I could hover here with one foot in and one foot out forever.

I am terrified. So scared. To move on. To enter fully into my truly adult life, beyond the losses that have so colored the last eleven years. To let the past fall away and let the present fully emerge.

I get panicked. If I let go of the bronzed tiny cowboy boots of my father’s that I brought up from Texas with the furniture, does it mean I loved him any less? Does it mean I am a better daughter and I really loved him if I hold on to them?

If I throw out or give away the plates my brother and I made in our childhood, will I forget him and our youth? Am I a bad person?

If I let go of the plastic container I handprinted with hearts that holds some of my mom’s cookie cutters that I gave her and brought up from her kitchen after she dies, does it mean I am not a loyal daughter? Will it hurt her feelings?

Will I lose who I am if I let go of these things? Will I lose their love somehow?

Who will I be if I am not carrying around these objects that are connected to my past?

Will I float into nothingness? Will I no longer know myself? Will I forget the people and the memories associated with these things?

I have to somehow resolve this. Find a way to keep moving through this change that on some level I called in for my own soul.

I have to find a way to actually make this move. It is a movement, after all.

I have to breathe. And trust. And move forward, into my life.

Inspired by a Daily Word Prompt at Guest Daily Prompts: surface

Disco Dreams

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She could hardly breathe, her heart was jumping so high in her chest.

After all of the preparations, all the effort, here she was. Dressed in the new outfit she’d painstakingly chosen at the discounted designer clothes store, she felt almost pretty.

She’d managed to find an outfit she could afford with her babysitting money: a pair of green drawstring pants that miraculously fit her pear-shaped, chubby body and a bright orange, sleeveless terry cloth top.

Her short hair was styled in its usual two round parallel curls on either side of her face which her brother had nicknamed “doo doo curls.” Her short bang unfortunately only accentuated the width of her face, but there was nothing to be done about that.

The freckles that sprinkled her nose and cheeks from summers spent at the pool were the only color on her face.

She’d had her parents drop her off at the club where the party was well into things. She knew it would be painful to walk into it. Better to be in a crowd than risk being seen too clearly.

She entered and walked in quickly, grateful for the darkened atmosphere. It was a disco-themed party for the 7th grade dance club, and so everyone was dressed accordingly and the venue was an actual disco. Instead of alcohol, soda was served.

She went from room to room, seeking two things: the few friends she had that might be there too, and him.

She found the friends and nervously stood, Sprite in hand, the condensation from the outside of the white plastic cup dripping down her hand.

She sucked the inside of her mouth along the braces that lined her upper and lower teeth, finding a strange comfort in the metal that was at the same time so maddening to her.

Through the pulsating lights, she saw him finally: Scott Prewitt, in all his glory. He was the most popular boy in school, blonde and tan. She sat behind him in Spanish class where, amazingly, he’d spoken to her a few times. Not just to pass papers back or anything. He’d made little jokes and seemed to enjoy her laugh.

She had looked forward to this afternoon for weeks, imagining that here, in the lights, in her new clothes, he’d maybe talk to her, which would be incredible.

She forced herself to smile and step forward from the shadows into the light, even though she was so nervous she could barely breathe and felt dizzy.

And just as she did, Scott Prewitt looked right at her and smiled and waved, his face beaming. She couldn’t believe it! It was happening! Her dreams were coming true.

Finally, everyone would see her differently. Because Scott Pruitt saw her, they’d value her, too. Everything would change.

She waited, breathlessly, as he walked towards her, her cheeks almost aching from smiling.

Just as she was saying “Hi Scott,” eyes twinkling, he walked passed her and grabbed Susie Moore, the most popular girl in 7th grade, in a hug, which made Susie squeal.

For what seemed like a lifetime but was actually several awkward seconds, she stood there as her “Hello Scott” hung in the air anemically before being dissipated by Susie’s squeal.

She stepped back into the shadows as she felt the familiar, hot flush of shame shoot down the length of her body.

She drained herself of feeling, determined not to cry. “That will teach you not to hope,” she said to herself as she pinched her arm, punishing herself for thinking things could ever be any different.

She found the restroom as quickly as she could, and there she remained for the full agonizing 40 minutes until her parents came to pick her up again.

Once home she sought and found numbing comfort in a pint of vanilla Haagen Dazs ice cream, and fell asleep into a full-stomach-sugar-induced coma.

Her hope did not have it so easy. A large piece of hers had fallen out of her heart and onto the floor of the disco, where Scott Pruitt and Susie Moore danced across it over and over again until it became unrecognizable.

Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: awkward

Mother Nature

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I am the wind’s whisper of the night

I am the morning-song and her echo

You live off my bounty

I gave birth to your parents

And today, I am dying for you

It astonishes me –

this embrace with poison

The death dance she and I are in

I will die saving you

But you can’t live without me

Will you hear my silent cries

And remember me in time

Or will we destroy ourselves

And leave our decayed remains

To birth a new Mother

And will she create a new race

Or are we the last attempt

Inspired by The Daily Post Word Prompt: astonish