Blessings

It’s not feeling a heck of a lot like spring around here right now, but I still adore this quote. Last night dipped into the 30s, and tonight will be freezing, as winter grips us just a few more days before stepping aside for warmer weather, just in time for the first day of spring on Friday.

The last few weeks have been stressful and emotional, and it has been draining. I am not a fan of summer, but I am ready for the warm, soothing sun on my face, getting back into the garden, working up a sweat doing endless yard work with my husband, and squeezing into the shower together before our date night afterward. There’s something healing about hard work and then relaxing together to enjoy what we accomplished.

I’m also just ready for happier days. I find hope in the fact that even on my saddest days recently, I recognized the blessing in happy memories, and how lucky I am to have my husband and the life we share together. I have so much, and I am so very grateful for all of it.

Once in a Lifetime

The last week or so, since saying good-bye to our cat, Squeakers, has been tough. I have a huge soft spot for animals, and I always have. I grew up with pets and can’t remember a time that I didn’t share my life with animals. Saying good-bye to them has never gotten easier, though. It’s still heart-wrenching.

I have cried until I am exhausted, and I’m sure there will be tears yet to come, as I think of her, remember her, miss her. I washed her little white food bowl for the last time and put it away until I can look at it without the pain of missing her twisting my heart.

Through it all—from that phone call with the vet, through the illness, through the dwindling hope, and then the agonizing last day with her and beyond—my husband has been there. He has brought me tissues, held me when there were no words, stroked my hair in the dark when I couldn’t sleep.

He loved her too. He has been hurting too. Squeakers had her own favorite things to do with each of us. With me, she wanted to be draped over my shoulder and carried around, either in the backyard or in the house, which I jokingly called the house tour, slowly walking from room to room, letting her peek behind shower curtains, peer into shelves, nose around in closets. With him, she liked to be curled up in his lap on the back porch, just sitting together. She rarely sat in my lap, and she didn’t like my husband picking her up. She had very specific expectations for each of us. We didn’t mind. It amused us, and we went along with it because it made her happy.

My husband and I are always there for each other, but I have to admit, I have leaned much harder on him these past few weeks. Losing our sweet kitty really knocked me down. Even though it has been hard for him, too, he has been patient, gentle, loving. I can’t put into words how much I appreciate him, but I will try, because he deserves to know. He is more than a keeper. He is once-in-a-lifetime.

Glad She Chose Us

Not long after we moved into our house more than 10 years ago, my husband noticed a tiny, gray-and-black striped cat on the deck. She was timid but friendly, and we pet her, figuring she was a neighbor’s cat who was just curious and would soon be on her way.

She came back, though, then returned again. And again. We weren’t too sure anymore that she had a home somewhere else. We fed her, played with her. She had a soft meow, so we started calling her Squeakers.

We never formally made the decision to adopt her. She just came back more and more, and we were always happy to see her. I don’t even remember the first time we let her into the house. She melted into our lives and our hearts like she had always been there.

Eventually, several other cats followed her lead and hung out in our backyard, too, but Squeakers was always the boss. She was small, sweet, but loaded with attitude. She loved to chase a string on the back porch, but she pouted dramatically if I tried to share our game with one of the other cats. That was our thing, and ours only, as far as she was concerned.

Squeakers liked to roam and explore, but at night, she came to prefer a soft blanket on our loveseat or at the foot of the bed. One day, I had left a sweater folded on the bed, and she happily climbed onto it and curled up like it was hers. I attempted to explain to her that it was my sweater, but it was no use: from that day on, it was her sweater, and she enjoyed laying on it and sleeping on it.

She loved when I held her and carried her around, but if I tried to sit down while holding her, she was having none of that. I never understood why, but it was okay. She wanted me to stand to hold her, so I did, because her gentle purr near my ear was soothing, and I liked knowing she was happy.

We have so many pictures of Squeakers sprawled flat on her back on the deck, her furry belly bathed in sunbeams, while she napped like a pro. She liked to snuggle in my husband’s lap on a chilly morning, as long as he complied with her requests not to move his leg around too much.

A few months ago, I took her to the vet for a small, scabbed-over bump on her cheek. We thought she might have been in a fight, or maybe she had a tooth issue. Instead, after a biopsy, we learned that our sweet girl had cancer.

I cried when I hung up from that call from the vet. It wasn’t fair. Squeakers was so sweet, so happy. And she acted like nothing was wrong at all, still playing, still eating with delight, still so content for me to pick her up and hold her against my shoulder while she purred.

My husband and I had difficult conversations as the cancer progressed. We loved her and promised to do what was best for her. She deserved peace and comfort. We would not make her suffer.

We said good-bye to her one morning last week. She curled up on one of my fuzzy sweaters that morning, and I lay next to her, petting her, resting my head gently on her belly so I could hear her quiet purr, my heart already shattering because I knew my time with her was running out, and I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready.

We had found out, after one vet visit years ago, that Squeakers was microchipped. I talked with her previous family and found out that they had moved away and simply left her behind, like she didn’t matter. As luck or fate would have it, we moved into the house right behind her old house.

I don’t know what led her to our back door that day, a decade ago. I’m just glad that she found us. She deserved so much more than her last family gave her. I believe she knew we would never leave her, and I take comfort in knowing that for over 10 years of her life, she was adored, spoiled, comfortable, and completely, absolutely, endlessly loved.

Someday, it won’t hurt like this. Someday, I won’t cry so much when I talk about her. I will always miss her, though. I am glad our paths crossed all those years ago. I am glad that she chose us. I am grateful we got to share those ten years with her, even if ten years was not nearly long enough.

We love you, Squeakers. Always. And, of course, that sweater is still yours!

I Deserve Better

All I used to care about when I was dieting or working out was how I looked. I dreamed about the clothes I wanted to be able to wear, hoped all those crunches were going to give me flatter abs, and impatiently waited for the scale to register a lower number.

I still care what I look like, no doubt. But now, at 51 I worry about things I never paid any attention to when I was in my 20s or 30s: my blood pressure reading, cholesterol, heart health, joints.

I just had bloodwork drawn for a doctor’s appointment, and given my weight gain and general neglect of my health, I was surprised how good all of my results were. This old body is tougher than I give it credit for, I guess. But luck will run out eventually if I don’t make some changes.

My motivation now is much more than looking good. I want to be healthy, strong, and fit, too. I want to be around to enjoy as many days and as many experiences as possible with my husband. I want to see all of my stepkids’ milestones, their weddings, their babies, their achievements. I want to be able to keep gardening and taking care of our yard. I want to be able to pick up my grandkids and play with them without passing out or needing resuscitation.

And, ultimately, the “why” that makes my heart ache: I have promised myself so many times, over and over, to take better care of myself, and then I don’t. I let myself down more times than I can count. I don’t want to do that anymore. I deserve better from myself. I will take care of every stray cat, feed the birds and raccoons and possums in our yard, drop everything to help my husband or one of the kids if they need me, but I can’t spare the same love, time, and energy for myself? Come on now. I can do a lot better than this!

Well, today is day #3 of doing a lot better, and I am slowly but surely making changes to be healthier and happier. When my husband and I went grocery shopping last night, I reacquainted myself with the produce section, figuring out healthy things to snack on that I will actually eat. I have searched online to bookmark workout videos to try (and then, believe it or not, have actually done some of them)!

Considering I didn’t get my act together until half the week was already over, I don’t know what to expect at weigh-in tomorrow. Maybe nothing at all. Maybe at least a small loss. Hopefully not a damn gain! We’ll see tomorrow morning. Either way, this is just the beginning, and I am proud of myself for finally taking this step and committing to it.

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