Creativity Healed Me

 

Only four months after the loss of my dear boy cat, Rocco, his littermate sister Bella went downhill quickly and we lost her the day after Thanksgiving. I never realized the bond between human and feline could cut so deeply after ours was severed. 

When Rocco passed, Bella seemed to look around for him for the longest time. Then I ordered a "cat pillow" with his picture and she took to sleeping right by it on the couch. Who knew that a cat could suffer a broken heart as well? Bella's depression turned quickly into ongoing health issues for her. Right at the time when my husband landed in the hospital this past fall, Bella began to exhibit some scary behavior. She barely ate, she seemed to have other stomach issues. One thing didn't change and that was her need to be in my arms. 

When I read or crocheted on the couch, Bella would always walk by scoping the situation. If I motioned for her to jump up, she would join me. But she was a lap cat and eagerly let me rock her like a baby when I put my book or other project down. She would gaze into my eyes as if trying to memorize my face. I spoke sweetly to her and told her how much I loved her but I began to have a terrible feeling.

Only one thing seemed to draw me out of a constant worry for my husband and Bella. I began some simple craft-making at the time. Just silly bookmarks at first, but then my passion developed into card-making and watercolor painting. Before too long, I found that stress seemed to float away, at least for an hour or so while I crafted. It appeared that creating something pretty created a much better me.

Though my Bella was comfortable, I knew that there would come a time that she would whisper in my ear that she was ready to join her brother. I truly thought I'd have her for several more years, but Bella said differently. She fell asleep in my arms at the vet's office the day after Thanksgiving. My heart cracked into two pieces and the tears flowed for a time.

Paper hearts, pretty Christmas glitter, and little baubles began to seal the fracture that ran along my own heart. As I shared the items with others, people told me to continue and cheered my beginning efforts at crafting. Bella was never more than a thought or prayer away from me, but my hands busied themselves with glue, scissors, and all sorts of pretty papers. The hands that petted and held a beautiful cat now began to make beautiful things. 

I miss two beautiful cats. I miss them with everything inside me. Their love remains with me as I sit near the two pillows with their precious faces. As I craft, I hear myself singing silly cat songs to them or calling them by the pet names reserved for special times. Rocco will always be my "Boy Oy Oy." And Miss Bella will always be "My Girlfriend!"

I will continue to make sweet little gifts for people and maybe someday I will even sell some of these things. I will enjoy every precious moment of crafting and thank God for the gift of healing that came along with it.

My beautiful girlfriend, Bella.

My little sweetheart's memorials.

Bella's pillow.

Bella cuddling with her brother's memory pillow.

Some of my latest creations:

Write Off a Whole Year?

 

Never one to "write off" a whole, year, I'm the type that can usually find good in most situations. That was until September hit with a BANG! 

My birthday month of August had just passed. As usual, I milked every precious day of it. We took fun drives, went to Kennywood park with my son. I got accolades and nice gifts. Yeah, I'm one of those. I am a kid at heart who literally tries to enjoy the whole month no matter how old I seem to be getting.

September began quietly until the afternoon my husband got a bad case of the hiccups. He held his breath, he drank tons of water. Nothing helped. Finally I knew we'd have to go to the emergency room. Such an odd thing, but it had gotten a little scary.

While at the hospital, the doctor ran the usual bloodwork and it was found that my Jim had extremely low sodium levels. Actually, quite scarily low. He was admitted into the hospital and stayed for four days. I had just begun a new job a few months prior, so my days were spent between running to visit him in the morning, head to work for a few hours, and then run back to be with Jim at night. During this time, I also noticed my cat, Bella acting strangely. She mostly stopped eating and drinking, yet still seemed to enjoy my company. We'd only lost her litter mate and brother Rocco only two months before.

While Jim remained in the hospital, it took a while to get his sodium levels back to normal. Too fast would be dangerous. And they changed up some medications he was on, completely cutting him cold turkey off of some of them. It did not sit well. I saw changes in my husband that began to scare me. He exhibited signs of confusion and anger. I never thought to ask the nurses about the meds at that time. The hiccups had gone away with medication the first night Jim was there, but all the water-drinking trying to rid himself of them, seemed to have caused the dangerous sodium issue.

When my husband returned home, my stress level soared. His new medications and behavior were foreign to me and I had to adjust. My Bella cat continued to get worse. Working full time, worry for Jim and my cat, I was consumed with anxiety. I began to lose my joy and felt bitter and depressed.

We are praying people and that never stopped. Jim was nervous from all he'd gone through, and his neediness made me weary. I wanted to be a good wife and asked God to please, please give me the strength I needed. I also talked with God about my Bella. "Please Lord," I said. "It's too soon after losing her brother. Don't take my girl away from me too."

It took almost two months but little by little Jim's behavior changed for the better. He seemed to finally be adjusting to the new medications and lost his fear and confusion. But we had to make the sad decision to say goodbye once again to a precious pet. Only four months after her brother, Bella crossed the Rainbow Bridge. I held her in my arms while she still purred for me. My eyes were the last she saw, and my scent, the last thing she smelled before she slept. 

As Christmas approached, I felt grateful for so many things. The year hadn't been a complete disaster. There had been moments of fear and sadness, but just as many moments of goodness, joy, and answers to prayers.

As I write this, snow is falling heavily and so beautifully outside my window. Small twinkling fairy lights are on in every corner of my home. My watercolor paints, soft yarn for crocheting, and paper crafts beckon me. Jim sits nearby enjoying solitaire computer games. We are very blessed.

For the Love of a Dog

Maya, smiling.

The bond between human and pet. It's beautiful. Many of us have stories from our childhood of our beloved dogs or cats, stories that almost seem incredible. Dog walks miles to be reunited with family. Or, cat shows up one year after it disappeared.

Last night I dreamed for the first time about a dog that had been with my family for many years. Her name was Maya and she was a beautiful Husky. She stayed with my parents for many years and the bond became unbreakable. Dad had been a heart patient, so walking Maya was a daily ritual for his health, but we knew that he secretly loved it too. How proud Dad was to walk alongside such a gorgeous creature. And that dog, sensing that our father had limitations, would choose to walk carefully beside him, always at Dad's pace. She understood his commands during their jaunts, and I know she kept our father healthier for this daily exercise they shared.

Mom loved her even more if that was possible. Our mother was the St. Francis of the family. Every stray animal, hurt bird, or furry casualty on the side of the road, she was the type to cry over their plight. She bonded with every pet we'd ever owned, and each of them loved her right back in turn. Maya was a faithful companion to Mom. Especially after our father passed away, that dog would be just inches from wherever mother sat. And even with her dementia, Mom treated that dog in the most loving ways.

When Maya got sick last year and my brother had to make a most difficult decision, I was worried how Mom would take it. I swear that our mother went downhill quickly right after Maya departed. She lost a true spark of living after that, and was never the same.

I remember at one of the emergency room visits last year when Mom was laying in the hospital bed, she was drifting in and out of sleep or consciousness. There was a point where she began "petting" an invisible animal, one that I could not see, but nonetheless knew was there with her. Because afterward, Mom reached her hand up as if grasping someone's extended hand. I felt that Dad and Maya were there with her at that moment.

Last night, for the first time, I dreamed about that dog. My father was walking her on a leash. Dad looked younger with dark hair--handsome. And Maya was beautiful and fluffy and whole. She ran over to me, licking my face, jumping on me with excitement in the dream. I remember feeling such happiness and wished the dream would continue much longer.

I just found out today that only four short days ago marked the year of Maya's passing. How odd that she would feature so prominently in a dream last night. And not only my dream, but my brother shared one of her too.

Coincidence?

We Do The Best We Can

My cat, Bella.

     Today I'm prompted to write this, as my heart is broken for a dear friend. You see, he had to put his cat down yesterday after only having him for three years.
     Most of us pet lovers have had to deal with this sort of heartbreak at one time or another. Our fuzzy dogs, pretty cats, even the smallest of animals, birds, guinea pigs. Sweet pets who ask nothing of us but to be loved and give so much in return. Unconditional Love. They wait for us by the door, tails wagging, tongues lolling, a big doggy grin on their faces. Cats who rub in and out of our legs, crawl upon our laps, the soothing sound of purrs and the drip of their love juices from their mouths. The many nights, when we are alone, crying into our pillows as our furry partner sits nearby watching, waiting for mommy or daddy to be alright. The lick or nuzzle of a cold nose under our arm or on our faces, as they tell us "it will be okay."
     Sometimes we feel we haven't done enough for our pets. Maybe if we'd just have brought them to the vets sooner. Maybe if I didn't buy that brand of food. Maybe, maybe, maybe, the list goes on and on.
     I have a sweet story to share with you. Perhaps it will put in perspective for any of you who beat yourselves up to this sort of thinking:
     When my son was about eleven, we were walking on a beautiful spring day. There, in the middle of our quiet road, was a little bird flapping its wings, unable to move. Our hearts were moved to compassion. How could we leave that poor thing there to its fate? A car would surely come by at some point. We retrieved the little fellow, placing him into a shoe box with warm material and we tried dropping water into its little beak at different times. We talked kindly to it, petting its battered body with a gentle finger. Yet while we slept through the night, the bird passed away. I awoke that next day, wondering what would I tell my son. He'd felt so good, so proud of our kind deeds. And now I'd have to share this sad news with him.
     I made a small grave out in our yard, and later that day, my son spent his own quiet time there, reflecting and perhaps shedding his own tears. This bothered me and I spoke with someone wise about the situation. How could I make my son understand life and death a little better especially where it pertained to an animal?
     I was told this: We gave that bird a wonderful passing. We loved it enough to pick it up when it was hurt, nurse it best we could, give it shelter and warmth. It didn't have to die alone and abandoned in the street. It knew love in its last moments.
     Last year, my son had to put a cat down. I think he handled it with poise and grace. I think, though his heart was breaking, he understood what it meant to love an animal with his whole heart. And when the time was right, when all else was exhausted, the decision to not have a pet suffer, is the most difficult, but most correct decision we'll ever make.
     So dear friends, let's feel good as we do the best we can for our dear pets. Know in your heart, you've done well by them. You've rescued them perhaps from shelters, or back alleys, or God forbid, abuse. And even if you've only had them for a short time, like the little bird, you've given them food, shelter, warmth, and love. You've done your best.