The world, under the microscope of your attention, opens up like a beautiful, strange flower and gives itself back to you in ways you could never imagine.

– Kate DiCamillo

The last two weeks have been hard. I’ve been depressed in a way that I can’t remember being since college. I can’t blame it on any one thing. It has been, with no particular rhyme or reason, Paul’s crazy long and exhausting (read: worry-making) work hours, our financial stresses, concern for providing the Amira everything she needs and deserves, grieving Freeni’s death, my health, the loss of my faith as I knew it and so on.  When I’m down, I’m a crappy friend.  I hide out and I don’t show up for even the basics of friendship and connection. And of course, knowing that I’m doing that makes me feel worse.

Mood cycles are incredibly self-referential, aren’t they?  Loop upon mood loops circling on themselves.  Happy tends to beget more happiness and feeling depressed tends to delve you further into more and deeper depression.  The trick is finding what works to cut the circuit ways on that particular path.  Hopping onto a new path can feel no less daunting than jumping off a cliff with no chute or safety net below.  Reality kicked in though when I realized I had already jumped off a cliff.  Spiraling down into depression is no less of a cliff dive than jumping off another cliff toward peace and happiness.  It’s a no win situation if you are avoiding a free fall.  But it’s a win-win, depending on how you choose to look at it.  Both jumps are free falls. Only one, though, allows for that adventurous joy-filled experience of the moment.  (Don’t know if that makes sense to you, it does to me.)  Anyway…

I don’t write when I’m on the spiraling downward loop-de-loop. And so the good news for me is that I am writing about this. It shows me that I’ve jumped onto the new path.  Hip-hip-hoorays all around. 

The sunshine is starting to break out here.  The trees are reflecting in the shimmering pond while the baby ducks practice their motorboating skills.  The swallows are darting and I can see the dogs wrestling and sprinting on the far side of the pond.  The red-winged blackbirds are balancing on the cattails and Amira sings while playing on the floor behind me.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any–lifted from the no
of all nothing–human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

-ee cummings

For the first time in 13+ years, our home lacks for a feline presence. Two weeks ago, Sabu’s body finally gave way even though our sweet boy’s spirit never did. He was a smart, happy, vibrant spirit from the day we met him until the day he died. I haven’t written about his death until now because I couldn’t find the words. I want to tell you all about him - his soft silky fur, his soothing rumble when he purred, his warning system when you annoyed him, his incredibly smart and empathetic personality and everything else that made him so dear to us. But what I need to write about right now is his death.

On the day Freeni died, I had just put Amira down for her nap. I was tired too - so I decided that I would have Freeni nap with me on the couch. Freeni’s hind legs hadn’t worked for a little while, so I would pick him up and bring him out onto the deck with me to soak up the warm sunshine. Other times, I would hold him while we napped together. Sometimes he enjoyed laying on the floor in the living room, just to be more a part of the day-to-day life. Most of the time though, unless he was being held, he preferred the safety, quiet and solitude of the large closet we outfitted especially for him. When he lost his sight, large rooms, the noises of the dogs and Amira would make him nervous.

The night before he died, something subtly shifted in his condition and Paul & I could tell that it was time. Saddened but accepting, we agreed to make plans to take him into the vet over the weekend. The next day, when I picked him up, I could tell he was agitated. Something was bothering him… not so much pain as a sense of overall disorientation. I scooped him up and held him close as I walked to the couch. His muscles were stiff and he pushed as though he wanted to get away. I figured he was afraid. I curled up on the couch in such a way to give him the greatest sensation of safety and comfort. I pet him and spoke to him softly, promising him that he was in a safe place, that he was okay and that I loved him. After about fifteen minutes of this, he relaxed into my arms. He purred quietly and leaned his head into my hand as I pet him. He moved his body so that he could tuck his head into the nook of my neck. Happy he was feeling settled and at peace, I fell asleep with his warm body against me, his purr vibrating softly and his head tucked under mine.

I woke up an hour later and Freeni was snoring lightly. I pet him a few times and the snoring stopped. I lay there for about a half hour just being with him. Then Amira woke up from her nap. I moved slowly and gently to minimize any concern or fear Freeni might feel from moving. When he didn’t respond, I rightly suspected that he was close to dying. Looking back, I believe Freeni had slipped into a pre-death coma.

I didn’t want to put him down, so I didn’t. Ahmis came home and when she came up to visit… I whispered to her that Freeni was dying. She stayed with me.

With Ahmis by my side, Freeni died in my arms around 4:30pm.

There’s no over sentimentalizing death when you are there when it happens. It’s not graceful. Nothing about it feels right. Even so, Freeni’s death was as right as it could have been.  What makes me happy in the midst of my sadness and tears is to think of him whole and playing in the sunshine. His spirit was too big to be housed in a broken body. I’m so grateful he fell into his first sleep curled up with me. I’m thankful that he also fell into his final sleep with me. I miss him so much.

I have a few more pictures from this evening to share soon.  We spent the evening eating our dinner picnic style, swaying on swings, climbing ropes, putting our toes into warm sand and cold, cold water.

For those of you who continued to check in - thanks.  I’m grateful to be back after a long two week wrestle match with some nasty malware that appears to have overwrote critical system files.  When getting rid of the malware, I got rid of files needed to run my machine smoothly.  It all ended in having to back up my files, wipe the hard drive and start over.  I wish I done it a week and a half ago - but I kept thinking: ‘this time, this time I’ll fix it and it’ll all be up and running again’.  One of those live and learn moments, I suppose.