Ghosts in the Candlelight
The snow let up briefly after dark last night. By the time I got home, the moon was shining faintly through a veil of clouds. But today, dawn brought more wind and snow. Television has been off the air since last night but as we still have power and Santa brought us some new DVDs, we aren't without entertainment.
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Here at the tail-end of the year, I guess it is natural to find yourself taking bearings, comparing where you are this year to where you were last year at this time, and wondering about the future.
I have been holding memories of last Christmas at arm's length for most of the holiday season. Memory hurts too much. Dinky, one of our dearest cats, died just after Christmas last year. Her decline cast a shadow over the holidays and her death left me shattered for most of 2007.
I still have moments when her memory is so strong that I catch a glimpse of her tiny white paws in the movement of one of the other cats, or hear her chirp in their voices. I love that little cat so much...
But I soldiered on into 2007 and put up a brave front. The other cats needed me. I had to face Punkin's diagnosis with the same condition that killed Dinky and know I will be losing her too before too much longer. I have to wonder if this will be my last Christmas with her, my little hand-raised kitten who grew into such a strong personality, the Queen of the household and my most devoted cat.
Which turns my thoughts to our other orange Queen, Frieda, who rules the shop. I was so sure that she wouldn't live through last winter and yet she rallied and persists, her digestive troubles replaced with the spectre of chronic renal failure. Will she be with us next year at this time?
Then there are the losses you never expect. I knew that Molly and Fred were old and that Tiny and Tommy were ill but losing Pickle Boy in June just broke me. Like the loss of Dinky, it is a pain so deep I just have to wall it up and try not to think about it. But I surely miss our pure white boy. Nine years was too short a time.
I can look to the future with hope. We plan to retire in the coming year and having more time together and at home will be sweet. But I know there will be inevitable losses of our companion cats. Our household will be less full by next year and we move on but we never forget the ones we lose along the way.
I shouldn't complain. This is the price we pay for loving creatures with life-spans so much shorter than our own. I knew going in to my many-cats phase that these days would come and I wouldn't trade off this pain against the pleasure that our cats have brought us. Even in my sorrow at losing Pickle and Dinky, I am so glad to have had the chance to have known them and all the others who have passed through our lives along the way.
There are other ghosts in the candle-light at Christmas.
Always, I remember my maternal Grandmother, born on Christmas Eve, 1904. She has been gone for over twenty years now, but I hold her forever close in my heart.
I recently found this photo among the boxes in the back rooms. My grandmother and her aunt Helen (1875-1940)--so I guess the picture was taken in the late 1930s. The house in the background was built by my great-grandfather. Off to the left the porch of grandma's house, also built by great-grandpa Ketner--is just visible. I believe those houses still stand in Tacoma, though these two ladies are gone.
*~*~*~*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*~*
Here at the tail-end of the year, I guess it is natural to find yourself taking bearings, comparing where you are this year to where you were last year at this time, and wondering about the future.
I have been holding memories of last Christmas at arm's length for most of the holiday season. Memory hurts too much. Dinky, one of our dearest cats, died just after Christmas last year. Her decline cast a shadow over the holidays and her death left me shattered for most of 2007.
I still have moments when her memory is so strong that I catch a glimpse of her tiny white paws in the movement of one of the other cats, or hear her chirp in their voices. I love that little cat so much...
But I soldiered on into 2007 and put up a brave front. The other cats needed me. I had to face Punkin's diagnosis with the same condition that killed Dinky and know I will be losing her too before too much longer. I have to wonder if this will be my last Christmas with her, my little hand-raised kitten who grew into such a strong personality, the Queen of the household and my most devoted cat.
Which turns my thoughts to our other orange Queen, Frieda, who rules the shop. I was so sure that she wouldn't live through last winter and yet she rallied and persists, her digestive troubles replaced with the spectre of chronic renal failure. Will she be with us next year at this time?
Then there are the losses you never expect. I knew that Molly and Fred were old and that Tiny and Tommy were ill but losing Pickle Boy in June just broke me. Like the loss of Dinky, it is a pain so deep I just have to wall it up and try not to think about it. But I surely miss our pure white boy. Nine years was too short a time.
I can look to the future with hope. We plan to retire in the coming year and having more time together and at home will be sweet. But I know there will be inevitable losses of our companion cats. Our household will be less full by next year and we move on but we never forget the ones we lose along the way.
I shouldn't complain. This is the price we pay for loving creatures with life-spans so much shorter than our own. I knew going in to my many-cats phase that these days would come and I wouldn't trade off this pain against the pleasure that our cats have brought us. Even in my sorrow at losing Pickle and Dinky, I am so glad to have had the chance to have known them and all the others who have passed through our lives along the way.
There are other ghosts in the candle-light at Christmas.
Always, I remember my maternal Grandmother, born on Christmas Eve, 1904. She has been gone for over twenty years now, but I hold her forever close in my heart.
I recently found this photo among the boxes in the back rooms. My grandmother and her aunt Helen (1875-1940)--so I guess the picture was taken in the late 1930s. The house in the background was built by my great-grandfather. Off to the left the porch of grandma's house, also built by great-grandpa Ketner--is just visible. I believe those houses still stand in Tacoma, though these two ladies are gone.
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