Crazy Land Crumbles, Writer Goes Insane

That's me there on the left, standing in the wilderness, looking up to Heaven. Like everyone else on the planet, my financial plight looks very iffy.

Tomorrow morning, the Crazy Land stockholders are holding a meeting to decide the fate of the company. The good news is that I'll definitely be employed at the end of today. Tomorrow is anybody's guess.

This is where what I learned from breast cancer is shoring me up. Can I control any of this--the state of the world economy, the state of Crazy Land or my own financial future? Well, not particularly. If you can't control it, gotta let it go. I'm letting it go again and again. About every 15 minutes at this point.

In the meantime, I'm going about my business, filing workers' comp claims, updating databases, searching for unbilled expenses. What else can you do? It's difficult to stay motivated when it's entirely possible very little of my work will mean anything in 24 hours (give or take a few). Nonetheless, it's important to take care of my responsibilities until they're not mine anymore.

Loss. As I recently shared with a friend, it's been my big lesson for the past decade. I wish I could learn the truth behind it so life won't continue to slap me in the face with it. All I know is that you have to let go. What am I missing here?

A life of constant instability, conflict, lovelessness and loss--what am I to make of that? I don't even have a therapist to help me work through this. Okay, that's kinda funny. I guess the only thing to do is continue to open my heart to compassion and to pain--not just my own but for everyone who suffers or has or will. Finding humor always helps, so I have to hold on to that understanding, too. Other than that? Beats me.

Oh yeah...a postscript. The great things in my life. I live in a house. I have adequate food and clothing. I'm receiving medical care (at the moment). There are many people in my life who love me and many whom I love. I have an entertaining and brilliant (though not financially productive) husband. My mom is still with me and we're close friends. I have two great dogs. I am not going through chemo, nor am I looking at another surgery (again, fingers crossed). I am not in excessive pain. I can think. I can see. I can communicate. I have a sense of humor, even though it's rather dark and warped. All in all, I'm a very lucky woman.

Prayers, finger crossing, throwing salt over shoulder, saying a mantra...whatever you do, feel free to include me.

Stop Loss

Okay, let's pause for a moment and review. In the past ten years, I've

*lost my father to suicide
*lost my oldest and dearest friend to a heart attack
*lost another old and dear friend because our relationship had become toxic to me
*lost my Malamute
*lost two beloved cats
*lost my breast
*lost three years of my life to breast cancer

and now I've lost my therapist of 14 years. If the universe is trying to teach me something about loss, I hope I figure out the mystery some time soon. I'm not up for any more losses (as though any of us has a choice).

I really think I get it, though. Life is about loss. Sooner or later, we will lose everything and everyone we love. Refusal to accept that fact is the very definition of suffering. I understand that down to the marrow of my bones.

I'm trying to keep an open mind and open heart so that, if there are lessons I haven't yet learned, they will reveal themselves to me. Of course, I'd just have to move on to another set of lessons I haven't gotten yet. That's kind of scary.

I'd really like to just coast for a while.

Holding My Breath

The migraine raged on all afternoon, all night and was there to greet me first thing this morning. I didn't cook dinner last night. I stuck it out at work until it was time to go home. When I got there, I actually went to bed and put a cloth over my eyes. Even in the midst of chemo, I rarely hung around in bed.

Hubby made dinner: turkey burgers. He did a great job, but I may never be able to stand the smell of turkey burgers again. I wonder if, because of chemo, I developed an overly acute sense of smell. There are so many things I can't stand to smell anymore. Raw beef. Turkey. Chicken (unless it's heavily disguised by spices). I'm still good with fish. I hate the smell of coffee cake and barbecue (these are definitely related to chemo). Enough of that.

I lived 19 years on the Gulf Coast of Texas. I'm accustomed to hurricanes, the anxiety of whether the path is true and it will eventually find its way to your home. I've lived through the endless rain, the high winds, tornadoes, the endless endless rain in an area not too far above sea level.

Today, I'm worried about all of the people who took (and continue to take) such great care of me at M.D. Anderson. I hope they're safe and that their homes are spared. I know Dr. Ross will be at the hospital, sleeping on a cot, taking care of the people who are so sick they can't go home. It's probably one of the safest places to be in Houston.

I remember every last one of them, from the people who park my car to the nurses who helped me get out of bed or stop bleeding, the medical techs who x-rayed me or ct scanned me to the doctors who saved my life. I can't know how they'll fare.

I'm holding my breath a little bit and saying prayers for all beings living on the Coast. But especially all of those people to whom I'll always be grateful.

Crazy Employee Makes Me Crazy. Again.

I had a migraine yesterday and I feel the onset of another one any minute now. Must write now or never.

Wednesday morning, I spent about an hour closeted with Owner in his office with the door closed. Seems Crazy Employee managed to get me involved in another one of her schemes.

When we rescued Crazy's puppy, we took her to the vet our company uses so puppy could have the required vaccinations. I had given them my corporate credit card when we took the other rescued dogs in, so I knew these charges would be applied, too. Crazy took the dog home and, about two weeks later, brought her back to the vet to be spayed. Late that same afternoon, Crazy came into my office looking meek.

"Could I ask you something? I don't really want to talk to Owner about it. He makes me nervous."

That's good. She should be afraid. She should be afraid of me, too, though.

She'd spoken with the vet who informed her that, when they performed the surgery, they also discovered that the puppy had a dental problem that was best resolved early. The vet tried to get in touch with Crazy, but failing to do so, had fixed the problem. The surgery bill was $500.

Crazy wanted to know if I thought it was Owner's intention to continue to pay all the puppy bills. Absolutely not, I told her. I suggested that she speak with Owner herself, but I had no reason to believe that would be even remotely okay. Once again, she didn't want to speak with Owner. Crazy said she understood and that she'd make arrangements to establish a payment plan with the vet. That conversation took place at the end of March.

When Information Superhighway looked at the statement we received from the vet, there was that charge. She brought it to Owner's attention, knowing it had to be related to Crazy's dog. Owner then called me in to discuss what I might know about it. I recounted our conversation and went to my office to get my credit card so we could ensure that it was, indeed, a Crazy Land card. Of course it was mine.

Owner trusts me without hesitation. When I was in charge of things for around a decade, I could have robbed the company blind had I been so inclined. We've been friends for over 3 decades. He knows he need never question my ethics. Nonetheless, I could feel my face assuming the expression of icy rage that scares the hell out of people. I couldn't wait to get out of the office and discuss the situation with Crazy Employee.

Owner called the vet's office to clarify exactly what had happened. We were told that they called Crazy just that morning and made her set up a payment plan. The charges will be taken off my card. Owner told the vet to always get direct approval from him or me for any future charges of any kind.

He was greatly relieved to not have to talk with Crazy. If Owner had a nickname for Crazy, it would be Loathsome. He has a list in his head of the numerous examples of her bad behavior based on her profound sense of personal entitlement. There are even some things he doesn't know about. I finally staggered out of his office, still furious.

Technically, Crazy had indeed lived up to the assurance she gave me that she'd take care of the charges. However, she didn't do that until the bill came due here. I should point out that Crazy actually sees the bills before they get to the Superhighway. She knew disaster was imminent.

I decided to take a walk and calm down. On the way back, who should I run into but Lillian and another of her gentlemen callers. One of the neighbors had called Animal Control the day we were trying to help the old dog and I was terrified she'd think I'd made the call. I just kept looking at the sidewalk and hurried into the office.

By then, I'd decided to let the Crazy thing go. Owner has his list and I have mine. I'm not sure which one of us she should fear the most.

It's Only Tuesday. I'm Already Exhausted.

Yesterday started somewhere around 4:00 a.m. for me. My mom had a colonoscopy scheduled and was told to arrive at the hospital at 6:00 a.m. Late Friday afternoon, the hospital left a message telling her she needed to pre-register, but by the time she got the message, that department had already closed down for the weekend. She thought perhaps they wouldn't do the procedure unless she pre-registered, so I suggested that we plan on getting there a little early.

I am not a morning person.

We agreed to get there around 5:30, but I was anxious about whether my alarm clock would work, so I woke up around 4:00 and never went back to sleep. There's nothing wrong with my alarm clock. I have issues about being on time and I'm always afraid that the electronic devices that run my life are going to fail me in some critical moment.

I was at the hospital for a couple of hours, then I brought my mom over to my house around 9:00, took a shower and left for work. Things were going as well as could be expected when I got a call from our receptionist saying Crazy Employee wanted me to come downstairs and look after the dog from next door. The dog had been lying by the side of the road and she'd coaxed it to a grassy area between my office and Lillian's house. He was unable to go any farther, unable to stand up on his back legs.

Owner came downstairs with me and we tried to get the dog to stand up. We brought him some water and a couple of large bowls of kitty food. The poor creature wolfed down the water and food. I tried to slide my hands under his hips to help him stand up, but that didn't help, either. There was a high potential for me to get bitten, so I abandoned the effort.

Finally a young man, whom we believe to be Lillian's son, ambled out of the house and over to where we were attending to the dog. I noticed track marks on his arms. The first thing he wanted to know was whether anyone had a cigarette. If I'd had a cigarette, I'd have been smoking it. I explained the problem to Son.

"He can get up. He just doesn't want to," he said. I repeatedly assured him that wasn't the case. Son retrieved a cord from inside the house, slipped it around the dogs neck and tried to get him up. Couldn't do it. I asked if Lillian was around. She was asleep, her son said.

After several attempts, I suggested that maybe the dog needed to rest. I told the son we'd keep an eye on the dog from our upstairs window. He mumbled thanks and walked back to the house. I got the dog more water and more food. I called a number of mobile vets, but no one was able to come. Even if they'd had time, the dog doesn't belong to me and I have no desire to try to get Lillian to agree to treatment (even though she wouldn't have to pay for it). Also, I'd almost guarantee that the dog has never had a single rabies shot. Vets won't work with animals who haven't have rabies shots.

This morning, I was afraid I'd drive up and see the dog, dead where I left him. He wasn't out there, so I got the Golf Pro to look out of my window to see if he was in Lillian's back yard. He was lying in his usual spot. Crazy Employee came in a little while ago to tell me about how they got him back. It's really more than I can think about right now.

Nothing makes me angrier than children and animals being mistreated or neglected. Clearly Lillian has appeared in my life to help me find more compassion in my heart. I have a lot more work to do in that area, apparently.

We may have to find a psychotherapist for our dog, Andy. Yesterday, Hubby went to work at noon and accidentally left the little boy outside. My mom didn't make it over for her puppy-sitting stint until around 1:00.

She arrived to find Andy crying. Sheba wouldn't take her treat from my mom until Andy was inside. This is totally unheard of. Under normal circumstances, she would have taken the treat and run to get into Andy's crate so she could be there when he entered the room. Andy hates it when she's in his crate.

After my mom let Andy in, he sat by the sofa and cried for a while. He was so upset that he couldn't take his treat. When he was able to pull himself together to drink some water, he had to take a little cry break in the middle. Finally, he started to feel better and went directly into What Can I Do To Be Bad Boy mode.

We have a perfectly wonderful backyard where Andy chases birds and squirrels. There are three dogs that live behind us and a small terrier who lives at the side. We have some overhanging bushes that all of our dogs have loved to run through and a garage that has an exit door at the side near the back fence. It's a veritable universe of canine fun potential, but Andy's accustomed to coming and going as he pleases. He's also used to having his Woo outside with him a lot.

When Hubby got home, I told him about how traumatized little Andy had been. Hubby felt guilty and dispensed treats all evening. This morning, Andy wouldn't go out until the Sheba Woo went with him. When she came in, so did he. I need that pet psychic lady from television to come over and talk with him.

Puppy Moved From One Crazy Land to Another

One of our office neighbors is a woman named Lillian. Lillian does not understand the concept of birth control. She's had several children in the past ten years. All were immediately rescued by Child Protective Services. She's also , by one means or another, come into possession of three or four litters of puppies. Lillian is no more capable of taking care of little dogs than she is of little humans. I've personally rescued (sometimes with Owner's help) three litters. Around nine weeks ago, the latest litter showed up.

They're rowdy puppies and they all weigh around twenty pounds. I listened to them while they played or cried for mom and, every once in a while, I'd stand up and look out my window to watch. I tried not to get emotionally involved while I waited for the inevitable moment when they'd crawl under our privacy fence in search of food. A couple of weeks ago, I heard one crying. I was annoyed that Lillian wasn't checking on the puppy; it was a cold, rainy day. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. I looked out my window but couldn't see anything. Then I crawled up on my desk and, when I looked down, there was a chubby little dog caught under the privacy fence. She was too fat to get under.

She and another of her litter mates managed to crawl into our patio area. I grabbed them and Owner called the vet. I delivered them to the vet where they had some food and water, then lay down to take a nap. Unfortunately, not all of the dogs made it over; there was one left. I knew how lonely it must be without her sisters, but my attempts to entice her to my side of the fence were failures.

Crazy Employee wanted one of the rescued puppies. Kind of. She vacillates about everything, including the dogs. She made an appointment to pick up one of them last Saturday, but she didn't show up. These puppies are incredibly cute. They didn't make it past Monday. Loving humans saw them at the vet's office and took them home. Crazy Employee was out of luck and a little miffed.

Yesterday, my first day back from Houston, Crazy came to my office the minute she arrived. She complained about not getting the puppy and noted, at length, how abused she felt.

"Let's go get the other puppy," I said.

"It's too scary," she said.

People at my office believe Lillian is a crack dealer or a prostitute or both. They're ridiculously nervous about interacting with her. I rolled my eyes. Crazy said she'd get some cash at lunch and we'd attempt a buy when she got back.

While Crazy was still at lunch, Mr. Moneybags' daughter banged on my door and yelled that the remaining puppy and mom were out in our parking lot. Moneybags told her to let me know. I didn't pause to put on a coat. I raced down the stair and out the door. I saw the puppy headed towards Lillian's house. I kept running. Just as I got to her driveway, the puppy sat down on the porch in front of the door. I was almost certain I'd be able to grab the little wiggly thing.

Just at that moment, though, a red PT Cruiser backed into the driveway. It was Lillian. We have no idea where the car came from; she's never had one and we didn't even know she could drive. There was nothing to do but face the music.

"Hi Lillian!" I smiled. I waved and smiled some more. "I saw the puppy out in the street and I was afraid it was going to get run over so I was trying to make sure it got back in the fence." I smiled some more.

She got out of the car and I walked over, hoping to be disarming.

"You know, I'm so glad you're here. I have a co-worker whose daughter just had a birthday and we saw how cute your puppies are and she was hoping maybe you'd sell one of them to her." Yes, I was talking fast, barely taking a breath.

"Aren't you the person who climbed over my fence?" Sometime before breast cancer, I'd noticed that the adult male dog was tied up and unable to get to water, so I climbed over the fence and, just as I got the dog untangled, Lillian came out the back door.

"Only once," I said apologetically. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

She told me it was okay and we resumed negotiations. She wanted to know how much money my coworker would be prepared to offer.

"I don't know. She's at lunch right now, but if you're going to be here for a little while, I'll bring her over when she gets back."

"Have her call me." She gave me her phone number and I went back to the office.

As I was recounting my adventure to my mom on the phone, Crazy Employee arrived. I got off the phone and caught Crazy up on what happened and suggested she give Lillian a call. Crazy was scared.

"Oh Jesus. Come on, Crazy. What's she going to do? Say no? Just call her." It's at moments like this that I start to wonder if maybe I'm being a little pushy. Crazy was too ashamed not to call. No one answered. The entire office was involved in this escapade by now. The Information Superhighway suggested we go back over there. Everyone else agreed. I allowed public opinion to influence me and we went back over. Of course, Crazy didn't want to go, but there was no way I was going to do all the heavy lifting (in a manner of speaking) alone.

I told Crazy I thought she should start the negotiations low and work our way up to $20, which was her limit. She had ten ones and a twenty, so I told her to give me the $20. I put it in my back pocket. No need to let Lillian know we had thirty dollars. I figured that, if need be, I could offer up my part of the cash as a "loan."

We walked over and I knocked on the door. I waited. Meanwhile, Crazy Employee wandered around the side of the house to where I had previously scaled the fence several years ago. I didn't see any puppy, but I didn't want Crazy over there.

"Don't you dare get that puppy, Crazy. Get away from the fence. We can't take the puppy after I've had this conversation with Lillian...."

"May I help you?"

I turned around to see a pale, emaciated white woman in a jogging suit. She had sores on her face. Meth Head. Great. Caught in another difficult situation. Crazy stood there, speechless.

"Oh hi! I was just talking to Lillian about maybe buying one of her puppies. Crazy here has a daughter and I was going to show them to her." I smiled and tried to look nonthreatening. Meth Head told me Lillian had gone to the store and would be right back. I thanked her and we walked back to the office.

As we walked in the door, Superhighway told me the PT Cruiser was back. Lillian was home, so we headed back over. Once again, I knocked on the door. This time, a man looking suspiciously like a pimp answered the door.

"Oh hi! I was just talking to Lillian about her puppies...." I smiled a big, stupid middle aged white woman smile. I wondered whether I might have to play the breast cancer card. This guy actually did look a little scary. He turned and went back inside. Crazy and I looked at each other. Then, the door opened and he started to come back out, but instead, he turned around and shut the door again. Another couple of seconds passed, then Lillian and Pimp came back out with the dog.

"Hi Lillian. This is Crazy, the lady I work with that I was telling you about."

Lillian held the puppy and told us she had named her Pitiful because she cries so much. She went on a bit about how much she loves Pitiful. I told her that she didn't have to worry; Pitiful would be going to a home where she would be loved and she'd have kids to play with....

"Do you think I don't love my dogs?" Uh oh. I backpedalled furiously.

"Oh no! Of course I know you love your dogs! I just meant..." I'd lost her. She got back to negotiations. Crazy asked her how much she might want and Lillian countered by asking how much she was prepared to offer.

"Ten dollars?"

"Ten dollars?! No. That dog chewed up my going to church shoes last week and those cost me $23. If I could get my $23, I'd be willing to let go of her." Lillian abruptly turned around and walked inside the house, leaving Crazy holding the dog and me trying to think of some friendly banter to make with Pimp. She came back a minute later, holding up some shoes.

"Oh no! Bad puppy," I said. "You know, I think I have some extra money." I felt around in my jeans pockets and came up with the $20. Finally, Crazy did the right thing.

"Are you sure you don't mind," she asked. I assured her it would be my pleasure. Money and puppy changed hands. I thanked Lillian several times and, just for good measure, thanked Pimp, too.

Crazy and I took the dog to the office where everyone immediately fell in love. I needed to leave soon because I was exhausted, but I had some trouble getting Crazy into her van and on the road to the vet's office. Puppy needed de-worming, flea treatment, vaccinations. Finally I got her into the van and we delivered the dog. Crazy's picking her up at 4:00 today.

I am so tired. And I haven't even told you about the nipple. I guess that will have to wait until Monday.

Dogs and Suicide

hubby left this morning to visit my stepson and his wife. after taking him to pick up a rental car, i came back and got The Tusk ready for his appointment with the vet. he wouldn't eat much this morning, but enough to give him his insulin injection. he only weight 69 pounds this morning, which i'm assuming is related to his not eating breakfast. his glucose level was down to 316. i had a disagreement with his doctor about the amount of insulin he was supposed to be getting. we had raised him to 25 units, then 27 as of last week. his doctor didn't remember those numbers at all...she thought he was still at 22. i still believe i was correct. i don't just make this stuff up, particularly when it relates to my dogs. he had a couple of hot spots, one on his cheeck and one on his right elbow. we got some spray-on medication for that. we have to go back in on thursday to check the glucose level in the afternoon. next wednesday he'll be there all day so they can do several glucose tests to determine when the insulin level peaks. he'll also undergo an ultrasound in the hope that we can find out whether he has cancer.

i'm just not dealing with that right now. it's all i can do to make sure he's adequately fed and gets his injections. i don't really have enough mental energy to worry about it.as i was driving to work this morning, i saw an overweight guy walking towards the car on the opposite side of the road. it put me in mind of my father. suddenly there was the picture in my head of how he used to be. i spent a few seconds trying to figure out what was prompting those memories, but i managed to curtail that train of thought pretty quickly. there was some television program last night that had a couple of suicides in it. maybe that stuck in my head. to be truthful, though, he's always popping up in my head, sometimes as the person he was before he killed himself and sometimes as the person who inflicted so much pain on me and everyone else with whom he had relationships.

i guess that's just the nature of suicides. it's never really finished business for those left behind. i remember when i first started going to my survivors of suicide group, there was a lady there whose daughter had killed herself over 17 years previously. she showed up every week to offer support for those of us still in the unbearable immediate aftermath of our own losses. every week when i saw her, i wondered how she had managed to keep going for so long. she gave me hope that i would eventually be able to survive my father's death. at the time, i wasn't so sure i was ever going to be okay again. i'll always be grateful for her presence and the calm way she talked about her daughter's suicide. the story is burned into my memory.

i sometimes think about going back to the meetings just to provide hope for others just embarking on their own journeys. i never much liked the facilitator and, the minute she started to try to do therapy on me, i stopped going. that's pretty much my pattern. if people attempt to get to close, to see into my very well-barricaded heart, i will immediately and completely withdraw. i get to control when and how and with whom i share my emotions. i had already had some misgivings about her; i thought she responded to one person in a way that may have increased the victim's guilt. that's one thing that no survivor needs. there's enough guilt to drown in it. when she started doing therapy with me, i made the decision that i'd received enough support.enough exploration for the day.

here's the quote of the day:
"Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned." ~ Edna St. Vincent Millayamerica held hostage day 1827 bushism of the day:"We are ready for any unforeseen event which may or may not happen."website of the day: Frugal and Fashionable Living Magainehttp://www.frugalfun.com/frugal.html

Pain is Inevitable

"Deep unspeakable suffering may well be called a baptism, a regeneration, the initiation into a new state." ~ George Eliot

Except for the fact that the sun is shining through my office windows and there are lots of foraging birds and squirrels, it's another grim Monday. I'm not even sure at this point exactly what it is that makes me dread another week at work. Really, every day is pretty much like every other day. I've pushed myself physically in order to be here when no one expected me to show up. I don't even have to be here today. Or tomorrow, probably. Office became a haven from whatever form of breast cancer torture I was trying to get through for the past 18 months. Maybe my reluctance to be here is related to actually feeling better.

I lost another kitty this past week. Mom Kitty, the grandmother of all who came after, disappeared several days ago. She was looking shiny and a little tubby, so I thought it would be a while before I had to endure another loss. I have no idea what happened. It's possible that some other kitty in the colony made her leave. She's been having problems with Ring Tail Kitty for a while now. Mom Kitty used to be able to quell any big ideas by doing her incomparable hateful-kitty look. As she got older, hateful-kitty wasn't as effective. She may have been taken by a predator. The problem with being older and a little chubby is that you just can't move as quickly as you once did.

I'm hoping she's not living here anymore, but still dropping by for food after the rush hour when all the other cats are vying for food. Not that there's any food shortage, but the crowd can probably be a little intimidating.

If I've told myself once, I've told myself a million times that this is just how life is. "Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional." The Buddhist approach to life. I guess I'm opting for suffering these days. I still have my beloved Mr. Swagger, the cowardly Black and White Kitty and his improbable pal Ring Tail Kitty. I now have a large grey and white male who's been recuperating from a foot accident here in the relative safety of the patio. Crazy Cat Lady (aka me) made sure he had access to food nearby so he could stay off the foot as much as possible. I have Mom Kitty's Daughter, she of the beautiful blue eyes and the stand-offish attitude. They looked just alike except for Mom Kitty's white tipped tail. I have four baby kitties (that I need to catch and get fixed). I'm face to face with the inevitable lately. The inevitable never gets easier, no matter how many beings abandon me for death.

I finished up Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides yesterday. It took me forever to get through it. For some reason, reading about people almost dying on the side of mountains has seemed more compelling to me. Celebrating survival, I suppose. A week ago or so, I got really committed to finishing Middlesex. It was worth the struggle to concentrate.

Last night, I started reading a biography of Primo Levy. I became familiar with his work, The Periodic Table not too long after my dad died. For several years after that, I became obsessed with suicide. I read everything I could find. (Although that's just another manifestation of my obsessive-compulsive tendencies, to some extent.) I'm not sure how I became aware of Primo Levy, but he fascinated me. He survived Auschwitz, lived another couple of decades and then, inexplicably, threw himself down the stairwell of his apartment building. He did not survive the fall. How could it be that someone could summon the will to get through a concentration camp only to lose the will when life seemed to be on a even keel?

The answer is clear in some ways. Auschwitz doesn't end for survivors. It just keeps on playing in their heads. More than one therapist has told me that my early life was just as difficult to survive as a concentration camp. If that's true, then I know for a fact that it never ends. Even on my best days, when life seemed full of wonderful possibilities, the past nonetheless cast a deep shadow.

That's just my interpretation, though. It doesn't explain Levy's choice necessarily. It's another one of those enormous tomes that will take a while to wade through, but he was a fascinating man in more ways than that which he chose to end his life. Like every other life, there's plenty to celebrate in addition to the sadness.

Now what was it I'm grateful for today? Right. Just being present. The opportunities to love. Those two are enough to get me through a lot of suffering. Which, by the way, is optional.

The Path of Wildness

"We need the tonic of wildness, to wade sometimes in marshes where the bittern and the meadow-hen lurk, and hear the booming of the snipe; to smell the whispering sedge where only some wilder and more solitary fowl builds her nest, and the mink crawls with its belly close to the ground." ~ Henry David Thoreau

The Good Boy is gone. I came by yesterday a couple of times and he was shockingly thin and lethargic. I petted him for a while and was grateful for the purrs. I had an appointment with my psychiatrist today, so I got up extra early so I could come check on him. I couldn't stand the thought that he might have needed food and wondered where I was. I checked again when I got back from my appointment.

He was strong and gentle. He was courageous and intelligent. His chose the path of wildness and he chose to allow me to help him. I was honored. He would disappear for a few months, a few days or even for a year and then turn up, hungry and vocal. He could have chosen to hang around and be fed. No need to hunt for his own food. He chose the path of wildness.

Since the time he was just a kitten, he would cross the busy street outside my office and head off into a field that surrounded the old airport. He could be a real cat there--hunting prey, beholden to no one. He must have had many adventures, but I know nothing about them. He chose the path of wildness.

After many years, he allowed me to pet him. His demonstration of trust and affection kept me going through some very tough chemo times. He was there for me and I tried to make sure he could always rely on me. We understood each other.

When he started looking really sick, I wished so much to do something for him. But he chose the path of wildness and that path can be hard and lonely. When death came, I'm sure he met it with dignity and courage.

He knew I loved him. I think he loved me. I'm deeply honored that he allowed me to be his friend.