Fifteen

Dear Lily,

Yesterday you turned 15. I think you had a pretty good day. Aside from the fact, you didn't get the new phone you were coveting. I believe you were holding out hope until the last gift was opened even though I warned you that was not happening. I didn't let you get your hopes up because you are a wise young woman and I knew you'd see the foolishness in buying a new phone when we are still paying for your "old" phone. Truthfully, I almost caved. Dad was the strong and most sensible one.

Some day you'll appreciate that lesson of delayed gratification. It's one your generation knows so very little of and we, the parents, are to blame. That is a post for another time.

You did receive the prettiest green St Christopher medal that I love seeing around your neck, exclusive Japanese beauty products, and gift certificates to one of your favorite stores. There will be more gifts this weekend when we gather for a birthday celebration at Windmill Beach.

It's not about the things though. The best gifts don't necessarily come wrapped in pretty paper with matching bows. Not to deny that we love those too, but the gifts of time and togetherness are far shinier and forever.

It's the reason I left work at noon so we could hike our favorite trails. We reluctantly bathed in Deet before hitting the Woodland Loop. The breeze through the trees was delightful. Hypnotic. You were delighted by the peeper toads along the path. The little things. Literally. When we got down to the lake, the flies were biting. They were fierce. I lasted only long enough to find my heart shaped rock. One every time I visit. A sign. A hug.

The story goes...

The day after Nanny's death, our little family came to this place for a little natural therapy. On the Woodland Loop in the middle of the day, we saw a huge barred owl sitting in a tree. It watched us. We watched him as we circled the path. It meant something to me. Somehow I felt it was important, but soaked in grief, I couldn't figure out exactly what. On the beach a little while later, you picked up a heart shaped rock and gave it to me from Nanny. You were four. always a little wise beyond your years. Now the rocks are our thing: mine and yours, and mine and Nanny's.

Yesterday we lived new stories. We'll talk about the day we ran like banshees through the trails and up the ravine two sweaty, swatting crazy ladies as flies swarmed us. It's the best workout I've had in awhile. We'll remember going to Hibachi for dinner and having the most bizarre waitress who gave you a a single spiral candle when she heard it was your birthday.

At the end of the night, we lounged around the living room, our preferred present spot, and after you opened gifts, we looked through both your baby and your birthday books. We laughed at some of the funny things you've said. The way you used to call Teddy "Deddy" and yourself  "Willy." Anything you want to know is written there or in one of your library of journals.

You told me that you appreciate the memories I've captured. And that sometimes you read bits and parts of your journals. Also you like the way that my blog keeps our current stories. And I, of course, love hearing that you appreciate the heart and soul I put into honoring our history. Writing is my love language.

I love you Cutie to the moon and back and every year on this day I thank the Heavens above that you are mine.

XO,

Mom

Faith

I held out until 7 o' clock this morning. Peanut slept beside me most of the night, which was a first in as long as I can remember. That's Tigger's spot. Pretty soon we're going to start feeling sorry for him. Peanut started to try and rouse me before the sun came up, but I was still almost sound asleep and only mildly annoyed. He stands on me, meows in my face, and tries to eat my hair when he's really determined. He gobbled up his baked cod this morning with gusto. He's been back to lick the bowl several times. He'll go back to lick it again and again until his next serving, which should be dinnertime, but I know I'll break down and give him lunch. When people are hungry, it is my nature to feed them. His new food comes any day and then things will hopefully normalize at Casa Wags.

**Just as I typed this last sentence Tigger regurgitated his breakfast. He doesn't throw up like ever. I've had to ration his food so Peanut doesn't eat it and apparently he ate too much too fast. I feel like I'm really being tested here.**

We'll get through this. The other night when I felt utterly hopeless, I prayed. My mind went to the worst case scenario and stayed there. Yesterday hope returned. It was a better day. I persevered. With the help of a new doctor, we are on a path of healing with fingers crossed.

If you find yourself here and you don't know Peanut or you don't like cats, that's ok. The message is when life gets hard and messy, we have to ask for help. Help from Him and them. Them being whoever can lend a hand, ease the burden. And then we have to dig in. Face things. Do the hard work. The other message is to trust your instinct when you know something is not right. Don't bury your head in the sand or accept mediocrity. Divine intervention occurred on our path when the vet we'd been seeing ended up on vacation this week and we were reconnected with Dr. Rice. I knew the other doctor was not giving us what we needed, but he's nice, he's the doctor who could see us when we came in with an emergency and what do I know about cat colitis? 

Let's just say I know a lot about it now. And I have a renewed faith in keeping the faith.

To The Light

The birds start singing at 5 a.m. sharp. I know this because I was wide awake with worry this morning. From 3 to 5 o'clock, it's just the crickets and for a few brief moments the birds and the bugs perform a duet. I'm not going to lie...it has been a rough stretch of days. Peanut was improving but then he took a turn. A wrong way turn. He curled up on my side in the middle of the night and I thought maybe he was saying goodbye. He's not one to sleep in bed with us. I prayed over, or rather under him first for healing and then for peace. A small, compassionate and tired part of me was hoping he would fall to sleep forever. 

Last night Lily and I sat on the stoop in the dark and I confessed that I was losing hope. She's well aware of his decline and she's seen what we've gone through to try to bring him back to health. She was stoic. Strong. It was one of those rare nights when you can actually see the stars in the city sky. I found it comforting. After a few minutes of silence, Lily broke down and confessed through big fat tears that she doesn't want Peanut to die.

It's a hard lesson for this almost 15 year old. Peanut is her cat. She's his person. They've grown up together. My heart is heaviest for her, but also for Tigger. These ginger brothers have been together since birth. They've been a package deal, double trouble, comrade cuddlers.

And even though I'm feeling downright sorry for myself today, I am well aware that these are first world problems. I should mention that there have been bright spots and joy moments this week too. Like an early birthday celebration at book club Wednesday. Dessert was my favorite chocolate cake and I went home with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. The countdown is on. It's officially my birthday month. It's a big one too, but then aren't they all? I intend to spend the last weeks of my forties taking a personal inventory. It's always a good way to honor endings and beginnings. A fresh decade is a big deal.

There have been lots of endings, and more to come. Lily's summer softball season wrapped Wednesday. Tuesday she had a career best. She was a dynamo on defense, had a double play and then she hit a home run. It was extra sweet because grandma and grandpa and her brother were on the sidelines. Oh, and the varsity coach who confirmed that she will be playing at that level next spring.

This is the last month of Ted. Of Ted under the roof of Casa Wags. This is the start of a month of letting go. It's something I'm not particularly good at, but I'm working on it. The other night was the last time with all his friends. They are starting to leave and won't all be together again until Thanksgiving. Saturday we have a last hurrah with this group before we send them all their separate ways. It's starting to feel real. 

Sunday Lily suggested we go to the Audubon for an afternoon hike. I had 100 reasons to say no, but I said yes. So did Mike. It was hot, but there was enough of a breeze to make it bearable and not too buggy. We had to do the loop twice because we made a wrong turn. Let's just say it was a good workout and also a glimpse of what it will be like to just be the three of us. We'll be fine.

The sun is high in the sky now. It's funny how in the dark of night I feel so alone and scared. Witnessing the break of day fills me with hope and gratitude. Yes, I'm dog tired, but I'm back to toil through another day. I'm willing to put in the effort to take care of what I have to and to say thank you for the blessings that are mine.