I think I'm having a breakdown. I went to work and started to itch. I haven't been this edgy for a long time. It's palpable, the pain and sadness makes it hard to breathe. I tried to talk to Michelle and I just started to cry. She is so kind and patient. She listens without saying anything. I have never known anyone who listens so intently without commentary, just listening. It is the most wonderful gift. She is the most wonderful gift.
But there's this itching. I have a rash and I itch all over. I am pretty sure it's psychological even though I have physical symptoms. I just don't know how to make it go away. Marie says I should try yoga. I think that was a nice way to agree with my psychological diagnosis. Of course, I think she is right. I will give it serious consideration but I don't think I have the energy to take the initiative to follow through right now. I listen intently to any advice from Marie, she's had similar tragedy in her life so she understands my suffering. I am so grateful that she is so close to me, she makes me comfortable when I am at work.
I just wish I could be lifted from all this pain. I'm really glad I have Michelle or I don't think I could go to work at all.
The weekend was weird. Everyone was thinking of us. Between email and phone calls, everyone wants to check up on us to see how we're doing. Although it is sweet and thoughtful, it is emotionally draining every time we answer one of these calls. There's this fine line between telling the truth and telling everyone what they want to hear. The thing is if we tell them the truth, that everything just sucks we risk the connection - maybe they won't call again and we certainly don't want to push people away. On the other hand, if we tell them what they want to hear, it's pretty unbearable to say we're doing OK when we're not. The only good we get out of it is that sense of making everyone else feel better. You can hear the feelings of relief in their voices, they are glad they called. Of course, obviously we answered the latter. The heavy feelings of sadness that blankets us now seems even worse.
Bailee and Adam are moving. They knew they couldn't stay where the baby died. There was just too much sadness in the air. The bad memory of that one horrible day outweighed all the other days. She can't even take a shower with her eyes closed because of her last good memories was bathing the baby the night before he died. It just haunts her.
Once the decision was made and the deal was sealed on the new house in Racine, reality set in. And I knew it would come - that feeling of leaving behind all the good memories. Bailee called to tell me that she is moving and I could hear the sadness in her voice. So I asked. How does that make you feel? She said she was afraid that she was leaving some of his spirit behind since this was the place with all the good baby memories. The place where he lived in his short time here. I told her that his spirit and all the love in that house was in her heart and in her memories and she would never be leaving that behind.
Bailee said that Adam calls it's a fresh start. So the planning begins. She spent the next two weeks packing and planning and getting ready for the move. When the time got closer she asked me to keep the baby's urn so she didn't have to worry about this little precious cargo during her move. I told her fine, I would keep the little jar in a safe place until she was ready to have it back. She just didn't want to worry about anything bad happening to it. I think everything bad has already happened. I didn't begin to fathom the effects of the baby's ashes in that little urn and how it would make me feel.
Maybe it wasn't so much the urn, maybe it was Bailee's treatment of it. She dropped it off on Friday night and when she left, she made sure to say good-bye. She talked to the urn like she was talking to the baby. "Good-night, sweet dreams, grandma and grandpa will take good care of you." My heart was breaking all over again. I cry everyday but it's been a while since I cried this hard.
All I can think of is the urn, the sadness, and my poor baby girl clinging to it. Thing's just don't get better.
Once the decision was made and the deal was sealed on the new house in Racine, reality set in. And I knew it would come - that feeling of leaving behind all the good memories. Bailee called to tell me that she is moving and I could hear the sadness in her voice. So I asked. How does that make you feel? She said she was afraid that she was leaving some of his spirit behind since this was the place with all the good baby memories. The place where he lived in his short time here. I told her that his spirit and all the love in that house was in her heart and in her memories and she would never be leaving that behind.
Bailee said that Adam calls it's a fresh start. So the planning begins. She spent the next two weeks packing and planning and getting ready for the move. When the time got closer she asked me to keep the baby's urn so she didn't have to worry about this little precious cargo during her move. I told her fine, I would keep the little jar in a safe place until she was ready to have it back. She just didn't want to worry about anything bad happening to it. I think everything bad has already happened. I didn't begin to fathom the effects of the baby's ashes in that little urn and how it would make me feel.
Maybe it wasn't so much the urn, maybe it was Bailee's treatment of it. She dropped it off on Friday night and when she left, she made sure to say good-bye. She talked to the urn like she was talking to the baby. "Good-night, sweet dreams, grandma and grandpa will take good care of you." My heart was breaking all over again. I cry everyday but it's been a while since I cried this hard.
All I can think of is the urn, the sadness, and my poor baby girl clinging to it. Thing's just don't get better.
I had a nightmare that I lost all my computer files. This is where I keep all my digital photos so it made me very uneasy. It's been a long time since I made a CD copy of my files. The thought of losing my baby photos forever was so unbearable that I am backing up all my files to DVD right now. Thank you baby for making me do this important thing!
I really tried to move on today. If Jeff wouldn't have mentioned it, I probably wouldn't have even tried. He said it was time to put the swing away. I agreed.
I've been thinking about it for a while now. But when the process of taking the batteries out, getting the box from the garage, going over the instructions so to take it apart properly, just the thought of those many steps felt overwhelming. So every time I considered it, just mentally taking it apart wore me out and so I stopped before I even got started.
But today I took it more seriously because Jeff said it out loud. I would really try this time, and it seemed do-able. Mentioning the swing didn't have a negative emotional effect as it sometimes does so I thought I was ready to pack it up. I picked up the swing and moved it to the foyer so I could vacuum the entire living room. I thought about where I would store the blankets and the little stuffed horse, the dangling toys from the attached mobile, and that was it.
I found myself on my hands and knees on the floor sobbing uncontrollably. Nothing could console me, nothing could stop the terrible pain and grief over putting away the baby's swing. Even the cat was concerned about my horrible wailing. The pain was so palpable I couldn't get up off the floor. I was so distraught, I cried myself to sleep and napped for a good hour.
When I got up I was still out of sorts, so deeply saddened. I felt like I was physically traumatized as much as emotionally. I told Jeff that I was sorry for not completing the task but I just couldn't. He thought that was part of the reason to put it away-it might just ease my sadness-if it wasn't there to remind me as it does. He's right, I'm sure, but it's physically impossible for me to do.
I've been thinking about it for a while now. But when the process of taking the batteries out, getting the box from the garage, going over the instructions so to take it apart properly, just the thought of those many steps felt overwhelming. So every time I considered it, just mentally taking it apart wore me out and so I stopped before I even got started.
But today I took it more seriously because Jeff said it out loud. I would really try this time, and it seemed do-able. Mentioning the swing didn't have a negative emotional effect as it sometimes does so I thought I was ready to pack it up. I picked up the swing and moved it to the foyer so I could vacuum the entire living room. I thought about where I would store the blankets and the little stuffed horse, the dangling toys from the attached mobile, and that was it.
I found myself on my hands and knees on the floor sobbing uncontrollably. Nothing could console me, nothing could stop the terrible pain and grief over putting away the baby's swing. Even the cat was concerned about my horrible wailing. The pain was so palpable I couldn't get up off the floor. I was so distraught, I cried myself to sleep and napped for a good hour.
When I got up I was still out of sorts, so deeply saddened. I felt like I was physically traumatized as much as emotionally. I told Jeff that I was sorry for not completing the task but I just couldn't. He thought that was part of the reason to put it away-it might just ease my sadness-if it wasn't there to remind me as it does. He's right, I'm sure, but it's physically impossible for me to do.
Dear Baby,
Grandma loves to run outside. This week is the first week that I can do that. I haven't been outside since November and this sure feels good. It's still pretty dark in the morning because of daylight savings time, but it doesn't matter, the moon and stars light my path. The fishermen are on the lakefront, making my run feel familiar. By the end of last years' running season they had familiar faces and we always said good morning to each other.
My run starts at work and I head through downtown to the lakefront. As soon as I take the turn along the lake everything seems to change. The city disappears and all I can see is nature and the heavens. And that's when I think of you. I imagine that you are in heaven watching me trot by. I talk to you like you're in the stars. I have always felt closer to God on my morning runs. And now I feel like I can be closer to you as well. I play music on my iPod while I run but for some reason, when I think of you I can't hear the music anymore, I can only hear you. There have been times when running is hard, like I can't wait to get through it but on the lakefront when I am thinking of you, it goes by so fast that I wish the run wouldn't end. It's a nice feeling to think of you.
I had planned a future running with you. At first with a stroller, then when you were old enough, you could run with me, side-by-side. I had visions of you winning medals as the youngest person to finish a 5K. We would spend Saturdays doing these races in the morning, stopping for breakfast where ever you wanted to go, then, swimming with grandpa in the back yard.
I had your little Nikes all picked out for you. I just realized that no matter what, you will always be runnng with me, forever and ever.
Grandma loves to run outside. This week is the first week that I can do that. I haven't been outside since November and this sure feels good. It's still pretty dark in the morning because of daylight savings time, but it doesn't matter, the moon and stars light my path. The fishermen are on the lakefront, making my run feel familiar. By the end of last years' running season they had familiar faces and we always said good morning to each other.
My run starts at work and I head through downtown to the lakefront. As soon as I take the turn along the lake everything seems to change. The city disappears and all I can see is nature and the heavens. And that's when I think of you. I imagine that you are in heaven watching me trot by. I talk to you like you're in the stars. I have always felt closer to God on my morning runs. And now I feel like I can be closer to you as well. I play music on my iPod while I run but for some reason, when I think of you I can't hear the music anymore, I can only hear you. There have been times when running is hard, like I can't wait to get through it but on the lakefront when I am thinking of you, it goes by so fast that I wish the run wouldn't end. It's a nice feeling to think of you.
I had planned a future running with you. At first with a stroller, then when you were old enough, you could run with me, side-by-side. I had visions of you winning medals as the youngest person to finish a 5K. We would spend Saturdays doing these races in the morning, stopping for breakfast where ever you wanted to go, then, swimming with grandpa in the back yard.
I had your little Nikes all picked out for you. I just realized that no matter what, you will always be runnng with me, forever and ever.
This was our second time at Compassionate Friends. I'm still not so sure this is something that is a fit for me. At the first session, the group leader could not attend so someone filled in for her. Everyone raved about this woman I never met, and I thought for sure this meeting would be better just because the facilitator with the great reputation would be there. But she wasn't there. So through the meeting the fill-in person repeated many times, I wish Rosie was here, she is better at this. It wasn't instilling any warm feelings for me.
The thing that surprised me was that there were quite a few new people there. Too bad, for them, I thought. I knew some of the new people, there was a neighbor who's daughter died from MS, a member of my church who's son took too many prescription drugs. There was a doctor, a woman who's son drowned, and a young couple who's baby died from SIDS. They only had their baby for a week before he died, I was heartbroken all over again just listening to their story. After the formal meeting they really wanted to connect with Bailee. The amazing thing is that they told her about a SIDS group that meets at Children's Hospital. I think she is going to go and skip coming here.
Compassionate Friends is a place where you can feel safe, feel understood, and get comfort. The thing is that I don't feel understood. I am in a room full of people who have lost sons and daughters. I don't know the devastation of losing a child, I am the grandmother of our lost baby, but I know that most of these people did not lose children. And when I say children, I mean the dictionary's first interpretation of a person under legal age, pre-pubescent, young children. Not grown sons and daughters who had their own style, personality, careers, even children. These people have memories of someone who has grown into their own selves. They have many memories to share and grieve over. We have none of these things, which is why I don't feel understood. The loss of this baby is like nothing I have ever felt before. And I have lost a father too soon, he was 53, a brother too soon, he was 24. I would never discount the terrible loss of these most important people in my life but it paled in raw, emotional suffering compared to this baby. This pain is so great my bones have never hurt like this. And there is no one to relate to, except this new couple that came to the meeting. I was glad that Bailee connected to them.
I gave Bailee as much space as I could. I wanted her to be able to try to find her own purpose to be here. I didn't want to be the reason she came. I reached out to Dick, the man who went to my church, and I think we really connected. I hope I can be of help for him to heal. Although I do understand that healing is not really possible, maybe the better word would be comfort. I am certain we will connect more often at church from now on and I am glad for that.
As we left the meeting we walked out with Chris, our neighbor. She did not like coming to the meeting and she told Bailee why. I stayed out of her conversation with Bailee. They were both the mothers of children lost so I hoped they would find comfort in each other. Chris went on to say that these people come here and re-live their death memories and Chris wanted to remember the good memories during her life instead. She didn't like how these meetings made her feel. Bailee commented that she thought it was a little disturbing that many of these people have been coming for years. She knows she will never be the same, that she will always have a broken heart over this baby but she was pretty sure she didn't want to be doing this for years.
My own personal feelings were somewhat the same. I felt like I did want to be there to share my pain, but I wanted to talk about my pain, not listen to others who have been coming there for years. The co-leader explained that many people who have been coming for years are proof that you can get on with life, not the same life you had before but survival is possible. With all the reliving of the pain of the loss that these people discuss, it doesn't feel at all like they have got on with anything. It feels more like they want to re-live their pain over and over, no time for me to share my pain. Maybe it is selfish of me, but I didn't come to the meeing to be an audience for these people. I wanted help for my grief, to find a way through my pain. The amazing thing is that the best comfort that I got came from Dick, the new member to the group. Maybe we can start our own support group at church.
I really wish Jeff could come to these meetings. I would like to know what his feelings are about them. Maybe they would help him. At least he would be another opinion on whether there is value in attending. I will attend again next month, but I am pretty sure Bailee will not. I still have to see of Rosie is worth the wait.
The thing that surprised me was that there were quite a few new people there. Too bad, for them, I thought. I knew some of the new people, there was a neighbor who's daughter died from MS, a member of my church who's son took too many prescription drugs. There was a doctor, a woman who's son drowned, and a young couple who's baby died from SIDS. They only had their baby for a week before he died, I was heartbroken all over again just listening to their story. After the formal meeting they really wanted to connect with Bailee. The amazing thing is that they told her about a SIDS group that meets at Children's Hospital. I think she is going to go and skip coming here.
Compassionate Friends is a place where you can feel safe, feel understood, and get comfort. The thing is that I don't feel understood. I am in a room full of people who have lost sons and daughters. I don't know the devastation of losing a child, I am the grandmother of our lost baby, but I know that most of these people did not lose children. And when I say children, I mean the dictionary's first interpretation of a person under legal age, pre-pubescent, young children. Not grown sons and daughters who had their own style, personality, careers, even children. These people have memories of someone who has grown into their own selves. They have many memories to share and grieve over. We have none of these things, which is why I don't feel understood. The loss of this baby is like nothing I have ever felt before. And I have lost a father too soon, he was 53, a brother too soon, he was 24. I would never discount the terrible loss of these most important people in my life but it paled in raw, emotional suffering compared to this baby. This pain is so great my bones have never hurt like this. And there is no one to relate to, except this new couple that came to the meeting. I was glad that Bailee connected to them.
I gave Bailee as much space as I could. I wanted her to be able to try to find her own purpose to be here. I didn't want to be the reason she came. I reached out to Dick, the man who went to my church, and I think we really connected. I hope I can be of help for him to heal. Although I do understand that healing is not really possible, maybe the better word would be comfort. I am certain we will connect more often at church from now on and I am glad for that.
As we left the meeting we walked out with Chris, our neighbor. She did not like coming to the meeting and she told Bailee why. I stayed out of her conversation with Bailee. They were both the mothers of children lost so I hoped they would find comfort in each other. Chris went on to say that these people come here and re-live their death memories and Chris wanted to remember the good memories during her life instead. She didn't like how these meetings made her feel. Bailee commented that she thought it was a little disturbing that many of these people have been coming for years. She knows she will never be the same, that she will always have a broken heart over this baby but she was pretty sure she didn't want to be doing this for years.
My own personal feelings were somewhat the same. I felt like I did want to be there to share my pain, but I wanted to talk about my pain, not listen to others who have been coming there for years. The co-leader explained that many people who have been coming for years are proof that you can get on with life, not the same life you had before but survival is possible. With all the reliving of the pain of the loss that these people discuss, it doesn't feel at all like they have got on with anything. It feels more like they want to re-live their pain over and over, no time for me to share my pain. Maybe it is selfish of me, but I didn't come to the meeing to be an audience for these people. I wanted help for my grief, to find a way through my pain. The amazing thing is that the best comfort that I got came from Dick, the new member to the group. Maybe we can start our own support group at church.
I really wish Jeff could come to these meetings. I would like to know what his feelings are about them. Maybe they would help him. At least he would be another opinion on whether there is value in attending. I will attend again next month, but I am pretty sure Bailee will not. I still have to see of Rosie is worth the wait.
Work started off crummy today. I don't know how it happened. I know that being in cubicles creates its own problems and I guess I should expect that things can go awry. It all started in the kitchen where I got a glass of water. I noticed there was a consultant, an engineer, and one of the help desk staff all wearing sweatshirts. Even though it is casual jean Friday, I didn't think sweatshirts were allowed.
I went back to my desk and looked up the dress code. My co-worker, Michelle came in, hung up her coat and noticed I had the dress code open on my computer. She asked what I was up to and I told her about being in the kitchen thinking the rules had changed but it turned out, they didn't. People were just not following it. Michelle stated that she thought wearing tennis shoes shouldn't be allowed as well as sweatshirts, but those are allowed on the dress code. I told her I agreed that they should not.
All of a sudden another co-worker starts to shout about how yes, she is in a sweatshirt and tennis shoes and that according to me, she is in voilation. I said not according to me, according to the company but I do think they are gym clothes, not work clothes. After her tantrum, she rants about how she doesn't care because she had a rough week. So I guess it's OK for some people to not follow the rules if they had a rough week. I didn't say that but I was thinking it. I just let it go and ignored the rest of her crap. All I could think of was - is there a full moon? And yes, there is.
Later in the day, the director calls me over to say she heard the conversation and that she wanted me to know that seeing everyone in sweatshirts annoyed her as well and that she will address it with everyone. I was glad for the validation.
I went back to my desk and looked up the dress code. My co-worker, Michelle came in, hung up her coat and noticed I had the dress code open on my computer. She asked what I was up to and I told her about being in the kitchen thinking the rules had changed but it turned out, they didn't. People were just not following it. Michelle stated that she thought wearing tennis shoes shouldn't be allowed as well as sweatshirts, but those are allowed on the dress code. I told her I agreed that they should not.
All of a sudden another co-worker starts to shout about how yes, she is in a sweatshirt and tennis shoes and that according to me, she is in voilation. I said not according to me, according to the company but I do think they are gym clothes, not work clothes. After her tantrum, she rants about how she doesn't care because she had a rough week. So I guess it's OK for some people to not follow the rules if they had a rough week. I didn't say that but I was thinking it. I just let it go and ignored the rest of her crap. All I could think of was - is there a full moon? And yes, there is.
Later in the day, the director calls me over to say she heard the conversation and that she wanted me to know that seeing everyone in sweatshirts annoyed her as well and that she will address it with everyone. I was glad for the validation.
Working at Second Hand Purrs was not what I expected. Not that I knew what to expect. When I got there the kitties were running free. They were everywhere. It was pretty cool to see them having the freedom to run about. There were four of us there to volunteer tonight. The way that it works is half the place gets a total scrubbing and the other half gets a light clean-up and then the next day it switches. So every other days, these cats get a fresh and clean place, which is better than the state of my cat's home. I don't wash his blankets more than one a week, if that sometimes.
Our first assignment was to remove all the food and water bowls from all the kennels and dump anything in them out. All the dishes get a sterile cleaning everyday no matter which side the the room they're on. Two of us were assigned to the light clean-up and the other two volunteered to work the scrub down. It should have worked out well because between two people, one can start at one end and one at the other, then you don't bump in to each other while working. There was only one problem with that arrangement. One woman wasn't really there to work.
Each kennel had a litter box, a rug, and a kitty bed with a cover. So after all the food dishes were out, I took out the litter box, the bed, then the rug. I shook out the rug first and put it back, shook out the bed and cover next, then put it back and lastly, I raked out the poo from the litter box, added a little more litter then put it back. If there were kitty toys in the kennel, I took a paper towel and wiped them off and put them in the kennel before I closed the door. It was a good way to mark that I finished the kennel by closing the door. Since all the cats were running loose, it didn't seem to matter to them.
I got through all the kennels in no time. And yes, I did all of them except for the one started by the woman who wasn't really there to work. She was so annoying to me. I don't know why, but I guess I went to the shelter to work with the kitties, not with the people so it was probably my expectation that I would be one with the animals, not one with the other volunteers. This woman never shut up. She was old, overweight, wearing really gross costume rings on all her fingers with lime green half worn off fingernail polish on her fingers. She talked incessantly about how she couldn't bend down and clean the lower kennels because it was too hard on her back, and she couldn't really handle shaking out the rugs and beds because of the arthritis in her hands, and she couldn't reach into the kennels because it was too hard to bend over. She was too thirsty and needed something to drink and they sold soda but she didn't bring any money so they had to get her a glass of water and she couldn't stand for very long so they had to find her a chair and all this time she never shut up. It was torture. All I wanted was to be one with those that can only say meow and I got two hours of incessant, boring, unnecessary chatter about nothing. I was so disappointed. But at the same time I tried not to let it bother me because I was all about the cats.
They sent the lazy one into the kitchen area to dry the bowls after they were sterilized. Still she never shut up. The director, Jane was very nice. We hit it off and she tried to engage me in conversation. I didn't volunteer much but I did talk a little about my kids and my cat. They were gearing up for a rummage sale so I promised to bring some Harley samples that I know I won't wear. They were grateful and I will bring them the clothes on Monday.
We got through the entire place pretty quickly - in less than two hours. Jane was thrilled, yet felt guilty because that meant the cats would have to get back to the kennels earlier than usual. I wondered how they knew which one went in which place. Jane said that they head to their homes as soon as she got out the food. We put the clean bowls back into the kennels and sure enough, they headed home when the food started to get distributed. Jane made it perfectly clear that she needs to distribute the food since some of the cats were on diets, some were on special food for illness, and the rest got the regular stuff. Of course, the old woman who never shut up didn' t hear any of it and decided to feed the cats herself. Too lazy to do what is supposed to get done but willing to do the job she's not supposed to. I just don't get it. So Jane had to remind her that she was the only one to feed the cats in a frustrated tone.
Since we were done working, us volunteers chatted a little and played with the cats. As I was sweeping the floor, I started to feel like crap. I was sneezing, coughing, and itchy. I knew what it was, too many kitties were giving me an allergic reaction. This is so disappointing. How am I supposed to work here if I cannot breathe? Why can't anything go the way I want it to go? Just when I thought I found this thing that made me feel good, I'm not sure I can continue. I said good-bye as I heard the lazy one ask someone to call her a cab. Secretly, I think she was hoping for a ride home. I hate to be mean but I came to work with the cats.
I left feeling pretty good about the work, about the cats and the great care they got. About how nice it was to care for them and to hold and pet them. They seemed to like the attention. I wasn't going to let some freaky woman ruin my experience. Unfortunately by the time I got home, I was really miserable. I had to take allergy meds just to stop the wheezing. This is so depressing but I don't care, I am going back on Monday. It felt too good to give up.
Something just occurred to me...how did the woman have money to pay for a cab but no money for a soda?
Our first assignment was to remove all the food and water bowls from all the kennels and dump anything in them out. All the dishes get a sterile cleaning everyday no matter which side the the room they're on. Two of us were assigned to the light clean-up and the other two volunteered to work the scrub down. It should have worked out well because between two people, one can start at one end and one at the other, then you don't bump in to each other while working. There was only one problem with that arrangement. One woman wasn't really there to work.
Each kennel had a litter box, a rug, and a kitty bed with a cover. So after all the food dishes were out, I took out the litter box, the bed, then the rug. I shook out the rug first and put it back, shook out the bed and cover next, then put it back and lastly, I raked out the poo from the litter box, added a little more litter then put it back. If there were kitty toys in the kennel, I took a paper towel and wiped them off and put them in the kennel before I closed the door. It was a good way to mark that I finished the kennel by closing the door. Since all the cats were running loose, it didn't seem to matter to them.
I got through all the kennels in no time. And yes, I did all of them except for the one started by the woman who wasn't really there to work. She was so annoying to me. I don't know why, but I guess I went to the shelter to work with the kitties, not with the people so it was probably my expectation that I would be one with the animals, not one with the other volunteers. This woman never shut up. She was old, overweight, wearing really gross costume rings on all her fingers with lime green half worn off fingernail polish on her fingers. She talked incessantly about how she couldn't bend down and clean the lower kennels because it was too hard on her back, and she couldn't really handle shaking out the rugs and beds because of the arthritis in her hands, and she couldn't reach into the kennels because it was too hard to bend over. She was too thirsty and needed something to drink and they sold soda but she didn't bring any money so they had to get her a glass of water and she couldn't stand for very long so they had to find her a chair and all this time she never shut up. It was torture. All I wanted was to be one with those that can only say meow and I got two hours of incessant, boring, unnecessary chatter about nothing. I was so disappointed. But at the same time I tried not to let it bother me because I was all about the cats.
They sent the lazy one into the kitchen area to dry the bowls after they were sterilized. Still she never shut up. The director, Jane was very nice. We hit it off and she tried to engage me in conversation. I didn't volunteer much but I did talk a little about my kids and my cat. They were gearing up for a rummage sale so I promised to bring some Harley samples that I know I won't wear. They were grateful and I will bring them the clothes on Monday.
We got through the entire place pretty quickly - in less than two hours. Jane was thrilled, yet felt guilty because that meant the cats would have to get back to the kennels earlier than usual. I wondered how they knew which one went in which place. Jane said that they head to their homes as soon as she got out the food. We put the clean bowls back into the kennels and sure enough, they headed home when the food started to get distributed. Jane made it perfectly clear that she needs to distribute the food since some of the cats were on diets, some were on special food for illness, and the rest got the regular stuff. Of course, the old woman who never shut up didn' t hear any of it and decided to feed the cats herself. Too lazy to do what is supposed to get done but willing to do the job she's not supposed to. I just don't get it. So Jane had to remind her that she was the only one to feed the cats in a frustrated tone.
Since we were done working, us volunteers chatted a little and played with the cats. As I was sweeping the floor, I started to feel like crap. I was sneezing, coughing, and itchy. I knew what it was, too many kitties were giving me an allergic reaction. This is so disappointing. How am I supposed to work here if I cannot breathe? Why can't anything go the way I want it to go? Just when I thought I found this thing that made me feel good, I'm not sure I can continue. I said good-bye as I heard the lazy one ask someone to call her a cab. Secretly, I think she was hoping for a ride home. I hate to be mean but I came to work with the cats.
I left feeling pretty good about the work, about the cats and the great care they got. About how nice it was to care for them and to hold and pet them. They seemed to like the attention. I wasn't going to let some freaky woman ruin my experience. Unfortunately by the time I got home, I was really miserable. I had to take allergy meds just to stop the wheezing. This is so depressing but I don't care, I am going back on Monday. It felt too good to give up.
Something just occurred to me...how did the woman have money to pay for a cab but no money for a soda?
As I try to get through the day, the more I feel stuck. I don't know what to do with myself but it doesn't really matter since I don't want to move on. Or maybe it's just that I don't know how it's possible. Today I realized that the horrible, raw grief that I felt in the beginning is starting to wane. As if no matter how much salt is poured on the wounds it just can't hurt as badly as before. But that raw pain has been replaced with a deep, deep sadness that weighs so heavy on me that it explains my feelings of being stuck. Sometimes I can hardly breathe. I can't catch my breath. The days all meld into an empty abyss where nothing matters, there's nothing but pain but I got through another day.
Today I stopped at Second Hand Purrs which is a no-kill shelter for kitties. I googled rescue shelters quite a while back on a day when I was contemplating the idea of a second cat. The amazing thing was that this shelter popped to the top of the list that is very close to my home. In fact, it's between work and home which makes it a convenient stop. Jeff consistently protests the idea of another cat. He says I pay less attention to him since I got the first one so he is resistant to the idea of a second one. I try to explain that with a second cat, the firs cat would be entertained, less needy and less lonely (hopefully, well maybe).
I've been revisiting the idea lately as a means to fill the emptiness and sadness in my heart. Not that it can really go away but it could be a distraction. So as I perused the website, secondhandpurrs.org . I looked through the available rescuees. I do have my heart set on a Garfield-like kitty, very orange striped but not necessarily fat. Fat cats are too difficult to hold in my arms. They are all so adorable but I really did not want to do something that Jeff doesn't like so I thought maybe I could volunteer my time and bring them donations of the items they desperately needed. But they do have this guy named Orion who is orange but kind of skinny. Since they are only open to the public on Thursday evenings and Saturdays, I picked up some laundry detergent and disinfectant wipes that were on thier list earlier in the week.
I didn't know what to expect on my way over. I was thinking about how these poor animals were tragically dumped off, abandoned, or I imagined various other terrible circumstances that brought them to the shelter. I was pleasantly surprised that the place was cheery and full of life. All these cute little kitties were greeted by visitors who were excited about the prospect of bringing a new family member home. Older couples were carefully viewing their prospects and children were giddy with delight over the idea of getting to take any one of them home.
I was greeted by a volunteer who was thrilled at the sight of the laundry detergent and wipes. I asked if I could look around and she said, of course. I secretly was looking for Orion so I could check him out up close. He was adorable but then they all were. I asked to take him out of his cage. The rule is to use hand sanitizer before picking up a cat, so I was applying it as the volunteer, Ann got him out. There are private rooms to take the cats into so you can spend some quiet time getting to know each other. This little guy was pretty small. My cat weighs 10 pounds and I think Orion was probably 7 and a half at best. He was shy but he warmed up after a while. Funny, how you just know though, that he probably wouldn't be a good fit at my house anyway as any new cat would have to be able to stand up to Toby. I just sensed he wasn't the one.
So I gave him back and continued to look around. Once really comfortable, I asked about volunteering. I was handed a form and I filled it out. I had to circle my available days and I asked if they would call me if they thought I was suitable. I was told, no just please come in on Tuesday evening. Coincidentally, the day I chose as available was the day they desperately needed help. I am really excited that I can look forward to offering some help. And maybe they will help me in return.
I've been revisiting the idea lately as a means to fill the emptiness and sadness in my heart. Not that it can really go away but it could be a distraction. So as I perused the website, secondhandpurrs.org . I looked through the available rescuees. I do have my heart set on a Garfield-like kitty, very orange striped but not necessarily fat. Fat cats are too difficult to hold in my arms. They are all so adorable but I really did not want to do something that Jeff doesn't like so I thought maybe I could volunteer my time and bring them donations of the items they desperately needed. But they do have this guy named Orion who is orange but kind of skinny. Since they are only open to the public on Thursday evenings and Saturdays, I picked up some laundry detergent and disinfectant wipes that were on thier list earlier in the week.
I didn't know what to expect on my way over. I was thinking about how these poor animals were tragically dumped off, abandoned, or I imagined various other terrible circumstances that brought them to the shelter. I was pleasantly surprised that the place was cheery and full of life. All these cute little kitties were greeted by visitors who were excited about the prospect of bringing a new family member home. Older couples were carefully viewing their prospects and children were giddy with delight over the idea of getting to take any one of them home.
I was greeted by a volunteer who was thrilled at the sight of the laundry detergent and wipes. I asked if I could look around and she said, of course. I secretly was looking for Orion so I could check him out up close. He was adorable but then they all were. I asked to take him out of his cage. The rule is to use hand sanitizer before picking up a cat, so I was applying it as the volunteer, Ann got him out. There are private rooms to take the cats into so you can spend some quiet time getting to know each other. This little guy was pretty small. My cat weighs 10 pounds and I think Orion was probably 7 and a half at best. He was shy but he warmed up after a while. Funny, how you just know though, that he probably wouldn't be a good fit at my house anyway as any new cat would have to be able to stand up to Toby. I just sensed he wasn't the one.
So I gave him back and continued to look around. Once really comfortable, I asked about volunteering. I was handed a form and I filled it out. I had to circle my available days and I asked if they would call me if they thought I was suitable. I was told, no just please come in on Tuesday evening. Coincidentally, the day I chose as available was the day they desperately needed help. I am really excited that I can look forward to offering some help. And maybe they will help me in return.
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