Leaving home

Quote of the day:

Like I said, you can't avoid grieving. You can't avoid feeling badly. You're going to grieve for the rest of your life, on and off, for those who have departed. Everyone Needs Therapy. Read more: here

Ada has to visit the vet today for an annual, comprehensive wellness exam. The last time I visited the vet was in July when Molly died. I have been staring at the cat carrier and thinking about picking up Ada and placing her gently inside before heading out the door. I know Ada well. She will cry and yowl and moan until we reach the clinic. It is her way of talking to me. I have great fear about what the vet will tell me. Will Ada be on the brink of some fatal disease? Will we need to do surgery? Will I lose Ada too? Of course, none of these feelings are rational. Ada is in great health, eating, sleeping, playing. Her fur is sleek and shining and she snuggles up close to me when I sleep. However, it brings back memories of past losses, and immediately those old hurts rise up to greet me. I look at Ada lying peacefully in the chair and feel closer to her than ever before.

Loss is difficult and I have had my fair share. This past Christmas I bore witness to Jazzy's last days with Randy, Milya and Maddie. She died of old age and had a glorious life full of love and energy. She died with love all around her. When we returned home from San Francisco I lit a memorial candle for Jazzy. And as it glowed and flickered I remembered animals who I have parted from: Molly and Terry, and I wondered about Jenna and where she might be these days.

Naturally, the feelings of sadness triggered thoughts and memories of my father, Charlie and Mar-Mar. I had the honor of sharing with them those most intimate of times, their last days, hours, and even moments, their last breath.

My advisor and friend, a renowned grief counselor, Tom Frantz used to say, "It's all about grief."

Loss is not only about people or animals who have died. It is about saying goodbye to my past lives. Bidding farewell to childhood, adolescence, embracing adulthood, leaving home. These days I realize, deeply, that I have finally left home: released my grip on my mother's strings, cut the enmeshed, psychic, umbilical cord. There have been numerous incidents or reasons that have brought me to this point. Some of them I have written about in my blogs these past two years. Most, I have experienced alone with myself, or written about in private journals. Last night I lit another memorial candle for this period in my life. It is peaceful, sobering, even, in a way, sad. After all, it means letting go of ancient pains and habits that have helped me survive all these 57 years. At the same time it is exhilarating to stand alone, free with the adult me making choices based on what feels right or deserved. Shedding self-destructive patterns and trying out a more nurturing, compassionate path. The end of an era. Necessary Losses.

Physically, I left home nineteen years ago. However, it has taken that long to untie the intense enmeshment, psychic strings, and unhinge double binds. This morning when I awoke, I lay for a few moments realizing that in a way this past week I have been sitting shiva. Only, it has been alone with myself. No friendly mourners stopping by with supportive comments or hot meals to tide me over. Just a head cold and sniffles, my bedside companions, that seem to be miraculously lifting even as I write this post.

Comments

[tamarika]

It is so true, Joyce. And now all those memories and all that love is piled onto little Ada who sits by me as I blog! How lucky can one woman be? (and one little cat too?)

[Joyce]

The grief over loss of a beloved animal, it lingers on. They are so precious to us.

[tamarika]

Jean,
"It's all about grief." I embrace it with a glass of wine and the beautiful haunting voice of Patti Griffin. I sing along, "Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye old friend..." and feel released.

Ada did well at her check-up. After six years, I discovered she has Norwegian Forest in her:
http://www.breedlist.com/norwegian-fc-breeders.html

When they took her to the other room to clip her nails I stood and cried a bit remembering Molly's last alive look at me as they carried her away ...

And so it goes ... little wheel spin and spin ...

[Jean]

Oh Tamar, thinking of you on your way to the vet. I've been thinking about the futility but seeming inevitability of such thoughts, such fears, as yours for Ada. Earlier this week, all the way to work after the 10-day Christmas and New Year closure, my mind rehearsed the possibility of returning to find the news of someone's death. Ever since my father died when I was 21, and out of the country, every time I've returned home after a trip away I've spent the return journey wondering if I'll get back to news of a death. Now, since my dear colleague's death last year, it seems that the same will happen every time I return to work after a break. I don't think there's any remedy for this. If it's the price of love, of a life fully lived in connection with others, I'm happy to pay it. Wishing us all a new year with not too much grief and the grace to accept what there is.

[tamarika]

Dear Amba,
You have followed my psychic journey from the start, and so I am deeply moved to read your response. Thank you so much.