I struggle every day with life’s challenges. We all do. I do.
I jumped off the couch last week and twisted my leg. How
could that happen? I am the creature
known to jump off tall buildings and land on my feet. I am the one sneaks past death
nine times. Is the limp of a hurting leg the beginning of number nine?
I don’t know. No one knows. Mom took me to see the vet who
told her these things happen more often as I use up my time on earth. “The pain
can last six weeks, or maybe six months. It is hard to tell,” he said, “I am
only a doctor.” So much depends on attitude. Every cat is different.”
My mom cried. “I don’t want my Sportster to suffer,” she
said.
The veterinarian ran his hand gently across my back, and I
rubbed my nose against his palm. “Just make him comfortable,” he said. “Make
sure he’s happy.”
I chuckled at the irony of his statement. Really? That’s
what every cat demands.
I climbed off the cold steel exam table into Mom’s arms. We
were done here. The vet handed Mom a brochure titled, “Recovery.”
“Take this home and study it, he said.
Mom chattered endlessly on the drive home about how I should
take it easy and that she would tend to my every need. Didn’t she already do
that?
She settled into our recliner and opened the pamphlet, reading aloud to
me, “Recovery from an injury or a loss is about acceptance.”
I limped over to
her, and hopped clumsily onto her lap. She set the paper aside. “Oh
Sportster! You shouldn’t jump with your
bad leg. I would have lifted you up.”
“No,” I said, but, too busy petting and cooing over me, she
didn’t hear me. This treatment, I did not want. Feeling sorry for me made me want
to hurl up my breakfast. Her attitude caused me to feel older and more useless than I already
did. I jumped from her lap to make a point. She was not going to tell me what
to do. Ever. Even when I’m dying, which I was not.
I wanted my dignity back, but her sobs, pulled me back as I
tried to walk away. I found myself back in her lap, purring, as she grabbed me
up and hugged me. I am too old for this, I thought. I barely have the energy to
take care of myself, let alone nurture her. My leg throbbed.
She took a deep breath and relaxed a little as I acquiesced
and curled up in her lap. Picking up the brochure again, she continued. “Living
is about accepting life on life’s terms.”
Yeah, sure I know that, I thought. I will accept my life even if I have to
limp the rest of the way through the time I have left. Judy needs to realize
the secret to recovery is accepting the process no matter how long or what the
outcome. Limping is a part of living.
Dear, Cat God, “Please grant me and Judy the acceptance, to
accept what we cannot change, and the courage to change what we can and the
serenity to know the difference.”
****
Yesterday, on Mother's day I lost two hummingbird
friends.
I first observed them as two
tiny eggs, and then as a couple of wet scraggly beings,
striving
to be free of their small enclosure. I watched
them evolve into
feathered creatures
who over flowed in their tiny nest because their mom flew and hovered endless
hours
back and forth to raise them into
brave little souls like herself.
Almost
ready to fearlessly meet their big new world, they succumbed to nature’s way when a big
black bird, like a bomb, swept in and massacred them.
Mom still hovers over the
shreds of nest that remain. On this Mother's day, as aching as her loss is, I know she will try again
next year. That is nature’s way.
R.I.P. LITTLE ONES.
Oh, how the moments fly, when you’re with your love. Life is a beautiful tune.
