Well, I am not sure what inspired me to open up my drafts today, but I did. I wondered if I could handle this one. I opened it. I am not sorry that I did. But, it saddens me. I had written this letter to him near the end of January 2009, about a month before he died. I fucking miss him. I miss being able to call him and hear his sexy voice, his infectious laugh, his empathy for whatever I was dealing with. I am so grateful though, knowing that I can now ‘call’ him anytime, any day. I know he is with me when I need to feel support and love, to not feel so alone, to feel courage to do what needs to be done. So, in posting this, I also send out a prayer to everyone who knew him and was blessed to have him in their lives, for whatever amount of time. And a reminder…

Do what you need to do. Say what you need to say. Death happens, every day. Appreciate life in the meantime, yours and those around you.

Dearest Christopher,

I would have to admit that it was ‘love at first sight’ for me. You struck me instantly with your platinum blonde hair and fancy self heading down the stairs at rehab when we first met. Thank God for the established boundaries that we abided by – keeping the intensity of ‘us’ at a pace we were both able to handle. Thank God we didn’t meet as teenagers. Surely we would have destroyed one another with the intensity.

Are we twins separated at birth? Were we married in previous lives? What is it that connected our hearts instantly that day on the stairs?

And what kept us connected even when we weren’t speaking to one another. Neither of us able to handle the level of love and anger that was sparked by the confusion of addiction and harm reduction.

You are so precious to me that there really aren’t words. Telling people that you are my ‘best friend’ seems so cheesy, so not even close to touching the level of our relationship. I am blessed with countless friends and special people in my life. Something is different with you though. And, I know, is different about you with your other friends too. I know full well that I am not the only one to love you from the start. Your heart, your intensity, your laughter, your smile, your grace and humility. You, my dear, you touch people in ways that not many have the ability to do.

And you do so effortlessly.

I can’t ignore the pain we have grown though either. You have seen me at my worst. I have seen you at your worst. We have picked one another up off of the floor, barely dressed, and helped one another walk again.

I so wish that I could be there with you right this moment, to hold you, to cry with you, to laugh with you, to feed you and pray with you.

You are the only person on this planet who fully and instantly understands me. You know how I feel, how I think, how I process the world around me. You are not afraid of my rage, my sadness, my grief, or my anything.

I remind myself regularly these days that I will have more access to you once you have died than I do now…

I had a difficult time trying to decide on a status update for my Facebook account today. I was tempted to just say ‘happy mother’s day’ or ‘shout out to all of my mama friends’ or something along those lines. I couldn’t do it though. I was way too mindful of the fact that I have a number of friends whose mothers have died. It felt rude, on my part, to proclaim happiness on what is likely a rather painful and sad day. It reminded me of having to be careful about wishing someone Merry Christmas in the event that they may be Jewish or anything but Christian. At the same time, I didn’t really feel like mentioning dead mother’s in my wishes to my friends either.

It would have been easy to proclaim love towards my own mother. She barely does email though and isn’t anywhere near a Facebook page. It would be wasted words. I am so grateful for her presence in my life. There were certainly years that things were not cool, not one bit. There were a number of Mother’s Days that I sat and cried, unwilling to contact her and unable to reconcile our differences. This year, it was easy to pick up the phone and wish her well. I had remembered to send her a card too. I picked it out and mailed it a few days ago. It was a tad bit painful to hang out in Target and scan what felt like thousands of cards. I finally found one that simply had the word ‘love’ on the cover. I do love her. I am grateful for all that she has done for me. I am so happy that I can call her any given day and tell her what is going on and check in on her. It has only been in this last year or so too that I began to think about her dying before me. I have said many times that my best gift for my parents will be to outlive them. Hopefully, I will manage that. Hopefully too, I will have many more years before having that loss.

I need to be clear quickly that I don’t think there is anything wrong with the fact that some of my friends did post ‘happy mother’s day’ on their Facebook wall. I was able to read it and hear their good intentions.

I was just overwhelmed to some degree today with picking up on how the day potentially impacted any given friend of mine. Later on, I felt sad for one friend in particular who posted something along the lines of being willing to give anything if he could hug his mama today. I know of others though that didn’t post anything. I wonder if they had a difficult day.

I feel guilty that I didn’t call Christopher’s mom. It is too late at night now. I did think of her and send my love. I thought of a lot of my friends who are moms. I didn’t end up sending text messages or calling.

I think I was just a bit overwhelmed myself. I am overwhelmed in the good sense with the love I have with my mother and the relationship we have managed to develop. Beyond that though, being aware of the enormous loss that some have had with their mother’s death, and the tumultuous relationships that some of my friends still have with their mothers, it was just too much emotion for me to process today.

Oh, and I suppose the fact that I am involved with a mom now has changed things, enormously. I had already fallen in love with her well before realizing that the fact that she had a teenage daughter meant, in essence, that I am in the position of being a step-mom. And, if I can avoid the bigger topic any longer, can I just say that picking out a card for her was way trickier than I anticipated. I mean, the majority of the mother’s day cards say mom or mother or some variation. Nearly all of the rest say ‘to my wife’. Clearly, none of those would work. You would think that Hallmark or someone would recognize or assume that people just want to send a card to a friend even, if not a same-sex partner for crying out loud. Maybe not. I would have appreciated some more choices.

I don’t know what this whole step-mom title means yet, or is supposed to mean even. I was fortunate enough to have my bio-parents married, to this day still. I have never dated anyone with kids. I didn’t even really have close friends growing up with step-parents. My experience is limited. Once again, life has thrown me a curve ball. Good thing I enjoy a challenge.

Enough rambling… I love my mama and wish her the best every day. I am so very proud and grateful for all of my friends who are mamas and look forward to seeing their kids grow up. I wish for all of my friends who struggle with their relationships with their mamas, that they may feel their mother’s love despite the challenges. I am sending much love to all of my friends who have lost their mothers. Much love to all of my friends who have chosen to not have human children and, instead, treat their furry friends like kings and queens of the house.

Ahhh, mother’s day…

I just talked to my youngest brother.  He is 30 years old today!  I know he is an adult now, a fine man at that.  But he is still my “babiest” brother on some level.  Whenever I am around him or talking to him, I am filled with the feelings and memories of how excited I was at the ripe old age of ten when he came into my life.  I cherish my connection with him and am so proud of him…

I have a horse now.  He is about 14 years old.  I have named him Sweet Potato and will sometimes call him Yam for short.  I have only known him for a week but in that short amount of time have become quite fond of him and am looking forward to getting to know him better and learning how to ride him and take care of him.  He is currently staying in a stall until he gains some weight and his wounds heal (he had been neglected for the past few years) at which point he can join the herd and be allowed to roam outside at times.

He is smaller than the other horses I have been spending time with and periodically riding.  He had belonged, at one point, to kids who showed him in 4-H events and been ridden Western style.  This means he will be easier for me to ride until I can become better skilled at the art and sport of horseback riding.

I really can’t even say how excited and grateful I am at this opportunity.  I know that the physical act of riding a horse will allow me to further strengthen my core muscles and therefore help my back continue to heal and become stronger.  In addition though, he and the other horses out at the stables where he resides are all wonderful for my emotional and spiritual health as well.  I love being out in the country, seeing the sky so clearly, and the work of doing chores.  I love figuring out the non-verbal forms of communication amongst the herd and us visiting humans… the great deal of respect and love they show for one another…

I have had the opportunity to do some energy work on some of the horses too.  It has become quite mutual, the healing that occurs when I am around them.  And the laughter…

I loved to ride horses when I was much younger.  I am really grateful and it is really fun to have ‘horse play’ back in my life…

Just so everyone knows, Bubba and Mr. Whiskers moved with me.  Bubba is now 15 years old!  It is amazing to me to think that he has been in my life that long.  He survived the loss of three siblings in a short amount of time but Mr. Whiskers coming into his life allowed him to re-gain some energy and take over as alpha for the first time.  The two of them adjusted well to the new house and appreciate the fact that they have a great number of windows with spots to sit and look out at all of the squirrels etc. around the house.  They do not appreciate the stray cat in the neighborhood so much but I believe they have now hissed at him enough through the windows that he is leaving them alone now.  The two of them were essential in my earlier phases of grief at the beginning of the year.

They have welcomed another cat into our lives.  She is young, less than a year old, and her original owner had to move out of State and was planning on taking her to the shelter.  Bubba and Mr. Whiskers graciously agreed to be a foster home for her instead.  And, we all fell in love with her right away.  She is orange, a darker shade than Bubba, and has more white than he does as well.  She runs, a lot, and plays, a lot, and is pretty much on the move all of the time.  Occasionally the boys will wrestle with her but, for the most part, we all sit back and watch her entertain us…

Her original name was Chloe but we have just been calling her the ‘baby girl’ or ‘baby kitty’ for now.  Considering other names or whether she really wants to be called Chloe…

Today is the one year anniversary of Indigo’s death.  Time is amazing in regards to the grief process, that is for sure.  I would love it if he were still living here, physically, with us.  He was truly one of the sweetest cats I have ever met, and this is saying a lot.  But I do feel his presence in my life still and appreciate thinking of him on a regular basis.  His death was a real shock last year.  I thought about him all day on Thanksgiving this year too as it was that day last year that we realized he had stopped eating.  We spent the entire holiday weekend making decisions around what to do or not to do for him and watching him die.  It was horribly sad.  This year, it was nice to ‘mark’ it as his holiday and talk about him fondly.

Bubba was born on July 12th, 1992 so he is fourteen years old today.  Other than a brief period while I was doing an internship in grad school and one day a few years ago when he somehow got outside – he and I have been together ever since then.  He was born in my house.  My partner, at that time, and I were living in Iowa City near the Iowa River and had been feeding a stray cat whom we had named Fred (prior to figuring out that she was pregnant).  She stayed outdoors but on that particular morning I “knew” that she was going to give birth.  We brought her in and helped her situate herself into a box full of old t-shirts.  She struggled like crazy with the first kitten.  The second one however, popped right out.  The 3rd and 4th were also quite a bit of work on her part.  Well, I fell in love instantly with that second kitten and knew that I was going to keep him despite the previous discussion of finding homes for all of them.  I named him Bubba and can’t really say why at the time other than it “fit” and has continued to be a name that nobody questions when they meet him.  He was dubbed a “yellow tiger” by his first vet but it is easier to describe him as a big orange cat – not unlike Garfield (and he does appreciate lasagna).  The funny thing about his size is that he was, I am not kidding either, twice as big as the other three kittens in the litter from the minute he was born.  He grew fast too… and has rarely missed a meal in his entire life. I honestly cannot describe how important he has been in my life.  He has always “been there” for me no matter what is going on.  But even more than that, he has witnessed my “growing up” stages and helped me appreciate and see my own maturing for myself as well.  I have learned a great deal about myself through him (and his siblings of course).  I am hopeful that he and I will have more time together despite his aging.  I am not ready to lose his companionship at this stage of the game.  Tonight, we made a special dinner in honor of his birthday and gave him plenty of ‘people food’ treats, I didn’t even make him wait until we were done like normal.  I also gave him a new toy (a small stuffed squirrel that I can re-fill with catnip).  He played with it for quite a while and then used it as a pillow for a nap.  He has allowed his new younger brother, Mr. Whiskers, to play with it this evening as well.  He seems to be more energetic and playful recently and is, I assume, adjusting to his more recent grief.  By the way, Bubba is quite inspirational with my writing.  I know, most cats tend to be “helpful” with activities but I am not being sarcastic in this case.  He will oftentimes sit on my desk, next to the computer and either sleep and purr while I type – or lean up with his paws on the keyboard a bit and watch the words appear back and forth across the screen.  I promised him I would write about him today and beleive he will appreciate this. 

We have a new addition to our family.  Three-out-of-four of our original cats are now deceased.  Grunt died Friday, New Year’s Eve on 12/31/04.  Indigo died the Monday after Thanksgiving on 11/28/05.  Monique died the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend on 05/27/06.  Exactly three weeks prior to Monique’s death, knowing it was approaching, we adopted Mr. Whiskers from a local shelter.  We knew that Bubba, as the sole survivor of our original cat family, would need a friend to survive the loss of his three siblings.  We woke that morning, 05/06/2006, and both had dreamt about the cats.  We went to the shelter and looked at hundreds of them.  In the last cage we looked into was a skinny gray and white cat with medium length hair who was named “Whiskers” by his previous owners.  He was curled up in a ball in his litter box.  I opened the cage and he walked towards us and walked up and wrapped his paws around my neck and “hugged” me.  I’ll spare you the rest of the details for now but, needless to say, we had found Bubba’s new friend.  And that he is.  He has not only helped Bubba in the adjustment and through some of the loss, but he has brought a great deal of energy and laughter into our home.  His whiskers are all white and indeed worthy of grabbing one’s attention.  His original name seemed a bit wimpy though so we dubbed him “Mister Whiskers”.  He is almost five years old – practically a kitten compared to his siblings who lived well into their teens and Bubba nearing 14 this week.  He is a blessing.

Indigo was a stray and showed up in my yard in June of 1992 so I have had him living with me for over 13 years. The vet, at the time, estimated that he was about a year and half minimum, so I assume he was about fifteen years old. Perhaps older? When he came into my life, he was mostly dead. He had lost a lot of weight, his hair was all matted up, and he was limping as one of his legs dangled from his body while he moved. We weren’t sure he was going to survive. He did survive. And was an excellent cat for all of these years. He died yesterday in my home with some assistance of the vet, the tech and myself. This was after a rapid decline since the night before Thanksgiving, just last week. I miss him dearly. I am so grateful though to have had his company and support for so long. He was a cat with a lot of dignity. He was incredibly helpful. He was sweet all the time. He was always there for me whenever I was sad about anything.

And he ALWAYS used the litter boxes. Seriously. Now that is a good cat.

OK, I tried to add a photo of one of my cats, Bubba, but I was unsuccessful. Perhaps my most excellent web guy will be able to help me out soon… (Hey Cody, I lost your email address, drop me a line when you can!)