Friends, it’s been a week of ups and downs — with the mid-level emotional event being my crawling under a Walmart dressing room door to unlock it for a very pregnant stranger. I should probably stop there, but so much happened!
And while I would like to focus on the highs – braiding my youngest’s hair for her first prom, laughing as her brother described his successful job interview, celebrating with extended family at a niece’s graduation party – it was unfortunately one of the lows that will stick with me.
Our cat Ginger has been slowly declining the past couple of months and recently took a definite turn for the worse. Her meows softened to barely audible levels, she stopped eating and a few days ago began hiding in unusual places. We’d hoped she would make it until our other girl-child returned from college but realized that wasn’t going to happen.
We called around to find a vet who had an opening, and along with the aforementioned youngest, took Ginger to, well, die. I was a mess, although it did calm me somewhat to find the “death room” stocked with beautiful sample urns and an electric candle. My daughter and I elected to stay for the procedure, while my husband Doo fled for the psychological safety of the minivan.
It was quick and peaceful and heartbreaking, and I don’t regret being with Ginger in her last moments. But that’s now the image I have of her, on that table, body skinny, and still, forever, asleep.
Thank god for my Walmart antics! I much prefer ambivalence and a disgusting floor to emotional extremes.
Peace out.
