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2001-08-16 / 7:15 p.m. ~The day winds down, and Raymond goes to Summerland~ The day is winding down here at work. Thursday is always slow like this, the phones simply stop ringing at a certain point (the phone rang as I was typing that). I lean back in my chair, become entirely too comfortable, listening to the radio, and come very, very close to falling asleep. I even sometimes stare right at the fluorescent light fixtures on the ceiling, zone out completely, fall into a deep relaxation, a workplace stupor of sorts. Then the phone rings and I spring into action, take immense pride in knowing that now I am going to be "helpful". Now I will be the one person in someone's day to make an effort, for him, or her. Yeah, Customer Service martyr, that's me. Tomorrow is A.'s last day, and well, that sucks, for me. I've said it before, I'll say it again, now, she is the only bright spot here, the only tolerated entity. (excuse me, but I just stopped writing for a moment to assist someone, and it felt so good) Tolerated entity? That doesn't sound right, does it? But I didn't want to refer to her as a "thing" either. You know, she's the only good "thing" about working here. She's not exactly a thing. All the same, she will be sorely missed, especially by me. So we're all doing the womanly thing tomorrow, bringing food. That makes so much sense. Any excuse to eat. I can barely feed myself, the hunting and gathering, the daily foraging for my own sustenance has become too much lately, so I refused to do it for the group. I will be bringing beverages. Fruit juices, and some caffeine free diet caramel colored and uniquely flavored carbonated sugar water, for Linda. I hope she likes it. I feel I should go buy one of those mylar balloons, something which says, "We'll miss you!", with hearts and flowers, or something, a card maybe, "From all of us", or something just from me, but I gave her Linda Goodman's Sun Signs instead. That's the traditional going away gift, yes? My bestest friend, H., just called - she had to euthanize her cat today. "Had" to? Yes, she'd waited a long time, the cat was an old girl, 17 years old, and thin, too thin, she'd lost too much weight, wasn't getting better, just old and infirm. It was time. I'm sad though, really, really sad, and happy at the same time. Happy that H. made the decision, went through with it, all of it, from the difficult process of the injecting, trying veins in all four legs, assisting the vet, the one she's known for years, her own vet assistant skills returning once she saw the difficulty. She described it all to me, how she grew calmer once her emotions were replaced by medical concerns. The old cat struggled a bit in her discomfort, but she's gone now, H. has buried her outside her front door, special trinkets, blankets, tokens, and totems lying there, with her. According to H., Raymond, the old girl cat, has gone to Summerland, a place where the grass is tall and green, and there is a large oak tree with softest green moss all around it, and she can lie there in the cool shade or chase the beautiful butterflies and grasshoppers to her heart's content. Her sister is there too, the one who was run over by the car, years ago, and they can frolic and lie together. It's a wonderful happy place. My friend is Pagan, Wiccan, very in touch with Goddesses and lore, including Gaelic, Celtic, etc. She included a special stone in Raymond's little resting place, something indicative of one Goddess or another, I'm not sure. But I feel that the old girl couldn't have gotten a better sendoff. Wherever she is now, her Summerland or otherwise, she is happier than she would have or could have been here, emaciated and dehydrated. H. showed tremendous courage doing as she did. But I am so sad, still, because that cat was such a fixture, and I'll still look for her when I go to their house, expecting her. And little Lilly, when she awakens from her nap, will ask where Ray is. I suggested H. tell her Ray is on vacation. Maybe she's in Cancun. I hope Lilly takes it well. She's not yet 3, and I don't know if death can even be grasped as a concept at her age. One day it will be Norma's time, and Gladys' too, and I don't know that I'll be so calm. I only hope I don't do what I did when it was my old girl's time. Kitty was 15 and her kidneys had been failing for a year or two. I'd even given her subcutaneous fluids at home, on the kitchen counter, but she was going, and I couldn't do it, just couldn't make the decision. She died on her own, in the night, and I remember hearing her make some sound, some final sound lying there on her little fluffed up towel under the heating vent in the bathroom - I didn't get out of bed to check on her, I let it wait 'til morning. I reached out to touch her, and she was cold. She was gone and I'd not even gone to her, when she cried out in the night. I'd not even brought her to our bed, to sleep with us, my boyfriend and me, on what would be her last night. And now I ask myself, Why? If only I could do it again. I harbor anger toward myself, obviously, to this day, 11 years later, for not acting as I should have, for not doing as my friend H. did today. But it's so hard to know the right thing to do. The vet wouldn't tell me, he said it was up to me. My boyfriend didn't have the time to go with me to the vet. I was lost. Kitty had lived through so much with me, had survived so much turmoil, so many ups and downs and changes, she was my best friend. And I feel I let her down. I hope I do things right the next time. I have more cat horror stories too, like my cat Rocco dying while I was out of town, but I'll stop here, for now, because it's all too much and I don't want to grieve any more today. I'll try to be happy for Raymond, in Summerland, and send H. a card in the mail to express my sympathy. It's all I can do, for now. Cost of the War in Iraq
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