Monday, October 7, 2019

I Remember You

I Remember You
Trisha Yearwood

I can picture you, like a photograph
I can see your smile
I can hear your laugh
No I don't have to look back
I remember you
When I'm all alone
You're all around
I tell you things, yeah I talk out loud
Ever since you left the ground
I remember you
You can ask the sun
You can ask the moon
Every day that goes by
I remember you
And even when
I close my eyes
Like a dream, you come back to life
I can't escape your love, your light
I remember you
You can ask the sun
You can ask the moon, yeah
Every day that goes by
I remember you
And I know some day
Only God knows when
I'll touch your face
And I'll breathe again
And life goes on, so until then
I remember you
Yeah, I remember you
Mmmmmmm
Every day that goes by
Oooooh
I remember you
Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: CAVER BENJAMIN CURTIS / REMPEL BRADLEY PETER / ARCHER KELLY ANE
I Remember You lyrics © Universal Music Corp., Songs Of Windswept Pacific, Southside Independent Music Publishing, Internal Combustion Music, Universal Music Corporation, Year 9 Publishing, Island Winds Music, Centricity Music Publishing, Year 9 Music, Spruce Road Publishing, Sony/ATV Story Music Publishing, MUSIC OF ONE77

Saturday, September 28, 2019

Friskie

This wasn't the blog post I had intended to write this morning but that's how life goes.
Things change.
A little while ago I found out my mother-in-law's cat passed away yesterday.
I didn't expect her death to hit me as hard as it did.
But even now, the tears are just around the corner.
Friskie's journey was a long one.  She started her life living with my in-laws in Texas. After John passed away, my mother-in-law's health deteriorated rapidly and I brought her - and Friskie - out here to Arizona.
Mom went to live in a beautiful assisted living home nearby and my plan was to make Friskie part of my family that already consisted of 2 dogs and 3 cats. John and I had promised Mom years ago that if anything ever happened to her, we would take care of Friskie forever.
But Friskie had other ideas. She hated not being an only cat so, after a few months of vainly trying to change her mind, Friskie went to live with a friend who offered to foster her for me.
And then a few years later that fell apart and Friskie found herself back in my home.
By that time, Mom had passed away and my heart was heavy. I needed to make this work.


Friskie said No again.
So, I reluctantly sought the help of a cat rescue here in town.
They promised me they would find the best home for Friskie and, if they couldn't, Friskie would live out her life in their care at the rescue.
But life had good things in store for Friskie.
One of the volunteers at the rescue immediately fell in love with her and adopted her.
Friskie once again was an only - and very spoiled and loved - cat.
She thrived in that home and I would occasionally get updates on how she was doing.
Until this morning, when the sad news came that Friskie had gone over the Rainbow Bridge.
She lived a long life and she was in a wonderful home when she passed.
But still I cried. Maybe because this was another link to Mom - and John - that is lost now.
We lose our loved ones in so many way - when we give away their possessions, when we move out of a home we shared - and yes, when a beloved pet that knew us dies.
I'm happy Friskie was loved by so many people.
I'm grateful for the rescue and the volunteer who gave her a home when I couldn't.
RIP, little one.
You are with Mom again.
Namaste.
Friskie
2002 - 2019

Friday, September 13, 2019

Sad all over again

Death by a thousand cuts refers to an old form of Chinese torture whereby a person would slowly die as he bled to death from a thousand little cuts.
Grief is like that.
Yes, death gives you an initial gut punch that brings you to your knees.
But after a while, the shock wears off and you assimilate the loss and continue to live.
But the grief, the pain of losing that person you love so much stays with you and day after day, month after month, year after year, you bleed.
I bleed when I turn over in bed at night and caress John's empty pillow.
I bleed when I make coffee for one in the morning.
When I heat up a frozen dinner at night instead of making a delicious meal for two.
When I watch the sun rise in the morning and John is not here to share it with me and I see another day before me without him.
Grief robs you day by day, cut by cut, tear by tear, loss by loss.
I don't want to sound morbid or pessimistic.
Life does become "routine" again, if you will.
Gradually I have incorporated losing John into my new life and I have learned to band aid the cuts and soon they scab over.
But they never really heal.
Anything can pull that scab off.
Sometimes I am surprised by the renewed hurt.
Sometimes I understand what did it.
A song.
A smell.
A noise.
I was taken aback by the sound of the the pool man one day as he dove under the water to fix a pop up head. For a split second, it sounded like John was back in our backyard. John who loved our pool and dove into it every day after work to cool off. For a split second my soul felt whole again.
And then...
And then it bled all over again.
There is no rhyme or reason to what can make a grief cut bleed again.
Today is the anniversary of when John and I moved into this house we have now in Arizona.
After driving for 5 days with 1 dog, 3 cats, and 1 parakeet, we entered our new home.
Together.
Now I am here alone. Different dog. Different cats. No bird.
And no John.
Tomorrow the bleeding will stop. Again.
But today I am cut all over again.
Such is grief.
Namaste.

Thursday, September 5, 2019

Wednesday, August 14, 2019

I miss you so much, Sweetheart

This month of August is now bittersweet for me.
As the days tick by I am daily reminded that 38 years ago John and I were planning our wedding. We were engaged on August 3rd and married on August 28th.
So the memories are both sad and happy.
Yesterday, I had a meltdown while listening to a Willie Nelson song.
I try to take comfort knowing John is with me but some days I lose the battle.
I know John is still with me. I know it with every fiber of my being.
But that doesn't make the missing any easier.