So without further ado, here are the haiku for the day. I hope you have a great day. Mine is improving. I am amazed at how I can have great hope, triumph, and happiness and at the same time feel tremendous sadness and exhaustion. I’m glad I’m not drinking anymore.
#36.
Crackle underfoot,
branches dry and brittle snap:
a walk in the woods.
#182.
Walking in the rain
and turning my face skyward,
my tears are added.
#56.
Carefully stalking,
my little lion, my cat,
her eyes glittering.
Johnnyboy
After a few days of being without Miss Kitty, I feel as if I am truly grieving. It’s amazing how such a small friend can leave such a large empty emotional space when she’s gone. There are no tears, just this forlorn and helpless ache. I cannot get the picture of her body out of my head. It was lying in an otherwise ordinary and peaceful pasture. There were flies buzzing. She wouldn’t get up when I called to her. The whole atmosphere seemed surreal and fake, as in ‘This is not happening right now’. I think I switched on the automatic pilot in order to perform the necessary task of burying her. Now I am sitting in my office writing about her and all I can think of is that she should be wandering in, meowing softly, and sliding past my ankles. She would want some attention, a scratch behind the ears, perhaps, or a game of ‘catch the shadow’ on the rug. Not tonight, pumpkin. I am so sad.
I have encountered death only a couple of other times so far. The first was when my Uncle John died in 1984. I was stunned, but I had been using already and so my emotions were kind of numb. I guess I still have not confronted that grief. My grandmother died a few years ago, but she had been bed-ridden and infant-like for a couple of years before she died, so in a way, for me, her spirit had departed long before her body. In both of these cases our family had prepared for these finalities months in advance. We all knew that Uncle John was dying, and my grandmother as well. Maybe it is the suddenness of Miss Kittys end that I do not want to accept. She was so vibrant, so alive, and so present in all ways. To have her suddenly snuffed out like a candle is a terrible shock and, as I said earlier, leaves a large empty space where she used to be.
My mother agreed that next week we can visit the ASPCA and rescue another cat. It would be great if there was a room at the shelter where we could go and ‘test drive’ our new houseguest. You know, try out the standard features of ear scratching, rolling on their backs, purring, lap-sitting, etc…oh yes, I forgot…We’ll have to bring a newspaper and pretend to read and see if the kitty wants to stay current with world events as well. *G*
Johnnyboy