Thunder of Wade

Today was the day for my second Covid-19 vaccine and I had a plan all laid out.  Jim and I have joined a wellness center not far from our house and this is also where I was scheduled to get my shot.

So, instead of swimming after work – when I normally do – I decided to get up early and swim before my shot.

The swim went…okay.  I had eaten too close to the time I needed to swim to make it work and I was full – but also hungry.  I had fuel, but I hadn’t converted it to energy.  I ended up not going quite as far as I wanted to, but still put in some laps.

I got out, got dressed and from the first floor waiting area, I did the health pre-screen and check-in.   Easy.

I had the “I’m ready” screen up on my phone and got stopped this time to show proof – guess too many folks tried to skip the lines.

But, in a few moments I was in the main room and confirming my birthdate.

As the tech was getting set up for me, I told her that she “might have to get a ‘running start’ with the injection” since I’d been working out.  She laughed and thanked me for the heads up.

The injection went smoothly and she commented, “that wasn’t so bad,”

I replied, quicker than I normally would be, that “well, I wasn’t flexing,”

She laughed again and I think I made her day.

With my card updated I was off to the waiting room for my 15 minutes of observation. 

And then I was done and on my way.

Over the course of the day my arm hurt just a little bit and I was a little tired.  I’ll keep an eye on things tomorrow as well, but this whole thing was pretty simple and easy.

And that’s what gets me when I hear about folks that don’t want to get the vaccine – or worse, somehow – are not following through on the second dose.  I mean…just get the vaccine, people.  Sheesh.  The science is amazing and complicated, but the decision shouldn’t be. 

I’m glad I did this and that, in a small way, I can help the people around me too.

And now – barring a booster shot later – I’m fully vaccinated against the pandemic.

Gooooooo…SCIENCE!

A man’s home is his castle and ours really is – with a turret and everything. Technically, a Normandy Tudor with old trees and vines climbing the bricks.

Those vines, though, were a problem. They had grown up past the second floor and had reached the roof – digging into the wood at the peak and into the shingles.

Neither Jim nor I like heights and though we had a pretty tall extension ladder, neither of us really wanted to climb up there.

When I was a kid, I was terrified of heights. Like death-grip-on-a-railing/hyper-ventilate scared. As I got a little older I realized that there might be times when I might have to be an adult and look out for other people – ugh, sigh – and that I couldn’t very well do that if I couldn’t climb a ladder.

So, I tried to work on it – to get the fear under control. I climbed things and looked out over edges and hated every moment of it. I would loudly declare that I was six foot tall and that was all the further I wanted to be off the ground.

But, I got a little better. To the point where I wouldn’t freeze if someone needed me. I still wouldn’t venture far off the ground on a whim, but I could do it if I had to. Like, life or death.

This past winter – our first Christmas in the house – Jim wanted to put a wreath on the outside of the chimney. It was the last thing to do to decorate the outside of the house and it was cold and starting to snow – and getting late. We couldn’t get the brick hook to stick and both of us were getting frustrated and tired. After adjusting the hook for the bazillionth time, I marched right up the slick and unstable ladder to hang the wreath. It stayed, looked good, and I was done.

Later on it occurred to me what an odd thing that was that I’d done – I was way higher up than I wanted to be and I’d been fine. Though, the crankiness had likely over-ridden that.

So, today, I was outside mowing the front yard and thinking about the vines. I decided to treat this not as an impossible fear, but as a problem to be solved. And I can solve problems.

The problem is the fear of falling, so I needed to not fall. And to think that I would not fall. If the ladder is steady, it won’t just tip over. And if I pay attention to my balance, near the top of the ladder is pretty much the same as the bottom of the ladder.

When I was done with mowing, I shared my plan with Jim – that I would just do this and see how I did. We got the ladder set up and he held it while I went up . I stayed focused and calm and with clippers in hand I went right up to the top. I worked on clipping and pulling the vines away and got as much as I could reach.

I took a break and Jim went up to work on a few as well. He went up a step higher than I would go and had to hang onto the shutter. I held the ladder and didn’t watch.

There was one vine still stuck in the eave of the house and no way to reach it. I gave this some thought, then got the saw-on-a-pole and took that back up the ladder. It took a bit but I managed to pry the last vine loose and came back down.

And I was okay. I had replaced scared with focused and fear with a plan.

It started to rain and we didn’t get done with the project, but the rest of the vines we want to clean up aren’t as high. I’m almost looking forward to going back up the ladder and finishing it up tomorrow.

I still have a ways to go before I’m climbing trees or fiddling on the roof, but I think I made some real progress today.

And briefly, I kinda touched the sky.

I found out early this week that my boss’s father had unexpectedly passed away.  I didn’t know the deceased, but I consider my boss my friend and it turns out that I know his…half-sister-in-law?  I think – the obituary wasn’t quite clear on how the relationships were organized.  Used to work with her many years ago.  Anyway, I got the details on where/when the visitation was being held and decided that I would go and show my support. 

The visitation was yesterday  and I got there slightly early as I always do.  They were just about done setting up and my boss hadn’t yet gone into the viewing room.  I walked up to him and he was surprised to see me – and smiled behind his mask.  I told him how sorry I was and asked how he was holding up.  He said the first few days were toughest, but he was looking forward to getting back to work next week and the ordinary problems there.  He then introduced me to his wife – and she said she’d heard of me on campus (she works at UA too) and knew me as “the web guy”.

There are worse things, I’d wager.

I saw and recognized my former co-worker and went over to say hello.  She didn’t know me at first until I said my name, then asked me to drop my mask to confirm.  She laughed, delighted to see me,  then asked me what had happened to my hair – I guess it had been a while since we’d seen each other. She introduced me to her husband and mother-in-law and we chatted for a few minutes, then I went to sit down.

I wasn’t quite sure what to do.  I couldn’t stay long – it was a work day and I had a meeting – but it felt weird to just leave.  So I sat there for a few minutes, waiting for things to officially start so I could officially get in line  – and then officially make my leave.  

Jim said later that this is “compound grief” – that when we grieve it brings back all the times we had grieved before.  Like muscle memory, perhaps.

I wasn’t grieving, exactly.  I felt bad for my friends and what they had gone through, but it was a bit disconnected.  But, as I sat there and looked down at the floor, every funeral I’d ever been to came creeping back. 

The carpet was a pale, sea-foam green.  As tasteful and utterly neutral as possible while still hiding wear and traffic.  The same carpet you could find in any funeral home – intended to be unnoticed and serve a function.  I looked up at the walls and saw the same prints I’m sure I’d  seen before if only I could remember.  So utterly bland that you could study them for hours and have every detail slip away if your gaze wavered.  I’d never been to this funeral home before, but it was still completely familiar.

And in all the sameness, I remembered all the funerals I’d been to and all the chairs I’d sat in while I’d said goodbye – or helped someone else say goodbye.

I felt that compound grief start to well up and the muscle memory start to flex – and I tamped it all down.  This was not about me.

So, I pulled myself back from my memories and gauged the flow of people traffic.  When there was the right kind of lull, I stood and got in line.  My boss, his wife, and my former co-worker  were all standing together and I talked to them for a few minutes – trying to say the right things and mostly succeeding, I guess –  before heading out.  

And then I got on with my day.   It wasn’t much and I didn’t stay long, but it was the right thing to do.  Sometimes all it takes is just showing up and being present for people.

I’ve stood in those receiving lines before and it is exhausting and terrible.  But I know that each person that stops by with a kind word can, in a small way, make things ever so slightly better.

I hope that my presence was a pleasant surprise on a terrible day.  And I hope that all of us brief visitors made it a little less terrible for them. 

There was no question that I was going to get vaccinated for COVID-19 as soon as it was available for my age group, but when it came down to it I did this in the most “anthony” way possible. High tech, well organized, and planned down to the minute with no surprises. 

First, I got the app.  Or, rather, the app for my medical insurance provider.  Once I got the password sorted out, I was in and got an alert when I could sign up.

I picked the first date available and an early morning time – then signed up online.  You really can get anything from the internet.   I took the day off of work in case I had a reaction  – but mostly just so I could have a day off.

Earlier this week I scoped out the location – 8 minutes from my house – and figured out the best parking options. I also planned a back-up route in case traffic was bad.

Today, I was up early and did the pre-check-in screening, then headed out – wearing a sleeveless shirt, of course.  (I will reluctantly admit to doing some dumbbell curls before I left the house.)   I got there early and checked in from the parking lot so that when I went in I was skipped ahead past two of the stations. Efficiency. 

I got the flyer at the door with notes and a QR code, got directed to the first open seat, then verified my name and birthdate. And then, needle stick – so easy and painless that I thought there was something wrong.  Like “can you stick it back in there and wiggle it around or something?”  or “Are you sure you pushed down the plunger?”

I didn’t say either of those things.

I got a timer and went to the observation area.  The nurse in that area took her responsibilities very seriously – she went from person to person, staring at them wide-eyed as though we might burst into flames or mutate into lizard people.    (I WISH.)  It was…a little disconcerting.

When my timer went off I immediately thought my pasta was done – I have the same timer at home – then turned it in and headed home.  

And that was it.  My arm got a little tingling/pinching/burning sensation a couple times later in the day, but it only lasted a few minutes.  It’s a little sore to the touch, but not a big deal.  I might have been a little fatigued today as well, but I was so dang lazy I couldn’t really tell.

I signed up for the post vaccine health check service  (QR Code!) and reported my very mild symptoms later in the day when they called for it.

My next appointment is in three weeks and I’ll likely take the day off again – or at least plan on the next day off since I’ve heard the second one is rougher.

I’ve heard some of the arguments for not getting the vaccine and they all just seem…dumb.  Here’s a thing, essentially free, that will prevent you from getting an illness that kills some people.  I mean, sign me up.  I’ll take a double (literally).  Easy.

And doing this, in a strange way, felt a little like voting.  Like what I was doing wasn’t just for me, but for my community.  Civic pride, and all that.  

So, vaccine shot number one is complete – can’t wait for the second.

If there’s anyone reading this that might be on the fence about getting vaccinated, please remember that I am very VERY smart.  And I think it’s a good idea.  🙂  So, there you go.

[editors note: this was written a few seeks ago, but there were website issues preventing timely posting.]

I hate doing my taxes.  Not paying taxes – that I don’t really mind.  I recognize the need to contribute to a functioning society.   But doing the taxes, filling out the paperwork and submitting it? 

Fills. me. with. dread.

I’m always certain that, if the sheer frustration of the nonsensical forms don’t kill me, I’ll screw it up and inadvertently commit tax fraud. And go directly to federal prison for life. Though I hear the food isn’t that bad. 

Wildly irrational, I know.  But, still, dread.

So, I’m of the mind that paying someone who doesn’t despise this down to the very core of their bones to do the taxes on my behalf is a worthwhile investment of my money.

I made the appointment and gathered up all my forms. And arrange to take a little time off of work so that I could arrive early – no stress, right?

On the day of, I’m a few minutes early and have my folder neatly ready to go with all the forms.  The Tax Guy comes out and I find out that they aren’t doing in-person appointments anymore – COVID – so my appointment was “drop off and go”.

Now, I had planned on being done with this mess that day.  Even had stamps with me to mail in my city taxes on the way home – and my checkbook for the direct deposit.    I was ready.

Instead, I scrambled to give the guy my info and the big events – bought a house, sold a house, got married (but filing separately).  He jotted down some notes, took my paperwork, told me they would have this done in a few days so I could pick things up and pay…

…And then sent me on my way.

Instead of being done, I had to wait.  And, you know,  dread. 

A few nerve wracking days later, I got a call and set up another appointment to pick things up.

I get there slightly early, but there’s clearly a problem.  There’s only the one Tax Guy there and no receptionist – or anyone else  He’s running late as a result.

50 minutes after my appointment was to have started, he comes back to the lobby to bring me back to his cubicle. 

And we proceed to go over most of the information that was already entered into the computer. Not sure how this was the wrap-up but whatever – he offered to give me a discount since I had to wait so long.  And hey, this is the guy keeping me out of federal prison. I figured I could cut him some slack.

But there’s another problem – I’m missing a form.  A 1099-S form for the Sale of Property.  I should have gotten that from my bank that held the mortgage on my house that I sold and paid off in 2020.  I have the Interest Paid form (1098, I believe), but no 1099-S.  He tells me that it “shouldn’t” make a difference since I won’t owe taxes if I had lived there more than two years, but I still should have it and can drop it off later if I find it to file an amended return. 

The rest goes normally, I pay the slightly reduced fee and head home to dig through all the paperwork again – and drop off the city forms in the mail.  At least I got to use that stamp.

I tear my files apart when I get home, but no 1099-S form is to be found.  So, I go online and make an appointment with my bank for the following Monday at lunch time to see if they can print one out. 

On Monday, I get a call to confirm the appointment and they ask what I needed.  When I tell them about the form they immediately reply that they don’t do anything with the mortgage stuff – and we cancel the appointment.

I did get a number from them to call the mortgage wing of the bank and called them next.  After wading through the menus, I finally get to a person.  I explain what I’m looking for and they have to put me on hold.

10 minutes later they are back – but no help.  I need to get the form from the IRS website and then I can fill it out based on the interest form the bank did send me.

Fine.

Next stop, IRS website where I find the form – with a note that says if I actually print this out and send it in it won’t be scannable. THERE WILL BE A PENALTY.    Instead, I have to order it and they’ll send it in the mail – in 10 business days.

So, I order the form and the instructions sheet and wait.

10 days later, I get the envelope from the IRS.  The instructions and the form itself are horrible – the least clear thing I’ve ever read. They also included another form that has to be sent in with the 1099-S for some reason.  It ‘suggests’ that whomever handled the transaction should complete the form on behalf of the seller.     Okaaay.

With the bank and the Tax Guy really no help and me not having a clue how to proceed, I take another desperate stab in the dark.  The title company had a ton of paperwork and seemed like they knew what they were doing – and might count as the ones who did the transaction.  I find the email of the Title Guy and drop him a note.  And wait.

The Title Guy gets back to me to clarify.  He recognizes the form name, but indicates that I don’t have to file it since this was my primary residence.   Quite clear and quite helpful.

This matches up mostly with what the Tax Guy said, what I read on a not-official tax site, with the confusion from the bank (sort of), and mostly with what little I gleaned from the forms.

With the refunds already in my account, I package all the notes and paperwork back up and resolve to stop worrying about it. 

 For another year, at least.

One of my projects at work has been to assist with the Black Male Summit  – an annual event/conference  for African American young men, high school and college age.  In prior years, this was limited to helping with the website and handling the e-commerce registration. Easy enough.

The Summit was canceled last year since the pandemic was just ramping up and since it’s not over, this year the BMS was moved online.

And since it was free, I figured my task would just be the website.  Again, easy enough.

But the platform they picked for the virtual event was not as straight-forward as they thought and they needed a “technical person” to help out.  I have no experience with the platform or doing video conferencing, but I’m “technical” and continued to help with the set-up of the system and learning how it all worked. 

As we got closer to the event, I realized that the committee was looking to me not just as the technical help – but to run the event on the day of the Summit.

I was a little taken aback – this was outside my wheel-house, expertise, and comfort level.   But, by this point, I was the most qualified.   Dammit.

In the days leading up to the Summit, I compiled all my notes and did multiple tests and dry runs.  I had stage notes of each task and each minute accounted for. I helped the rest of the committee train the presenters and kept up with the website and the changes in the platform.  All the while, my anxiety kept ramping up.  This past weekend I put in another 6 hours in prep time – on top of evenings and lots of time through the work days.

Last night, I was making myself sick with worry.  What if I screwed this up?  I’d be letting down the committee, the presenters, and the 1000 attendees – not to mention the reputation of the University.  My mind raced – running through countless scenarios.  Up to and including losing the network due to a nuclear attack and subsequent EMP.  (I didn’t really have a plan for that one, but I considered it.)

Finally, I sat myself down and worked this out.  Time, of course, was the key.  

1. I had been racing from one event to the next in my dry run – forgetting that I would have time while the events were happening to prep for the next.
2. Time would keep moving forward and it was only about 6 hours total.  I can keep anything going for 6 hours.

So, this morning – The Black Male Summit. I had my laptop running Firefox with the live event and the Teams chat with my colleagues – and a headset connected the. On my two screen desktop I had chrome in two tabs, plus the powerpoint of info slides and all the youtube videos queued up. Plus my stage note and agenda – and another set up of headphones since there was a 10-12 second delay between the backstage and Live.

The first video I played, I forgot the checkbox to share audio.  Once I realized that I started it again and we didn’t lose any time.   Our first presenter couldn’t get on the Stage and when he did – there was an echo since he had the live version going.  We skipped that, moved to the panel discussions and kept on going.  The videos and slides worked out, then it was time for the keynote speaker – Dr. Cornel West. 

We were trying to get him connected with his iPad and it wasn’t working.  I checked in with support and – SURPRISE! – the platform won’t work with presenting from an iPad or phone AT ALL.  And Dr. West…only had an iPad. 

The clock ticking, I got on a call with our coordinator, Dr. West, and his crew.  Our coordinator suggested we move everyone to a Zoom call – but I was concerned since we would lose people (zoom could only to 500 people) and it would be difficult to get them back for the breakout sessions. About 20 seconds away from abandoning our platform and switching gears, I came up with a Plan B.   I tossed a note in the live chat to stand by on the main Stage – then we go to work with me firing off each step that everyone needed to in the right order. Technical…

The coordinator set up a quick two person Zoom call, invited Dr. West, then logged into the backstage of the platform with a muted mic and video – then shared their screen.  I activated the broadcast and the duct-taped solution worked – Dr. West was now on the main stage and live.

He gave an impassioned speech and the attendees responded excitedly in the live chat.  When the Q&A was done, I dropped them from the stage and sent everyone over to the afternoon sessions. 

And, suddenly, I was omnipresent.  Sharing videos and powerpoint slides, dropped notes into the backstage chat to organize the presenters and keep things moving, dropped in on all 6 sessions to make sure they had their moderators, Teams chats and calls to direct people to the stage.  

Somewhere in there I realized that, based on my role in the event, I was basically Kermit the Frog.  We didn’t have any explosions, throwing fish, or hecklers – but I related to the harried stage manager frog.  Not easy being green and all that. 

After the sessions was the conference evaluation.  Unfortunately, my colleague that was supposed to do that couldn’t get to the backstage.  So, she sent her slide to me and I shared it – then fired up my own mic and gave a quick overview on the fly.  When I was done we had our last presenter, then I took us through the closing videos and ended with a slide and a note thanking everyone for attending. 

And then we were done and I closed down the event – and went home.

While it was still light out, I took myself for a walk to the bank and post office – then to the store to pick up some sushi for dinner.  The walk settled down my head – as it usually does – and I decompressed. 

Most of my work is behind the scenes and my wheelhouse is “quietly awesome”.   Today, though, I was right in the thick of things and I kept everything right on track.  Down to the minute. 

I think we made a difference today and really helped people connect.  

And, I’m really tired.

Friday evening, I found myself in the parking lot of an Arby’s.    That makes it sound like I had been kidnapped and dumped out of a van – or stumbled through an arcanic portal from the nether-realms.   As interesting as either of those might be, I drove there with the prosaic intent to pick up dinner.  But before I went in, I sat for a moment in my car – ostensibly waiting for Jim to text me his order, but also to just take a moment.

And breathe.

Just before my stop at Arby’s I’d been at the tax prep office – waiting for an hour past my appointment time and fretting about my paperwork.  I’ve never had a problem, but I always think I’ll have a problem. The kind that leads to an audit and federal prison for certainty.

And before that was a rush to leave the office on time while trying to help get an important message out. It was “zero hour” for me to leave and for the message to go – and I was in between the people with the message and the people fixing the problem.

And before that had been an incredibly stressful week of endless demands on my time and unrestful evenings. With a lurking sorrow of loss clouding over me.

So sitting there in the Arby’s parking lot, I took a deep breath.

Taxes are inevitable – as the saying goes – and I was as prepared as I could be.  The long wait meant they gave me a discount and though I was missing one form, it won’t be impactful when I file an amended return.

I did everything right to work the email problem and I juggled multiple conversations and projects better than anyone else I know could have done.  Everything did work out later on when I checked in and my boss was pleased with my efforts.

And the week? Well, I did my best and put in all the hours required of me – even the ones that drifted past quitting time. I was busy and productive and helpful. And managed to find a little comfort in the peculiar shadows in corners that reminded me of my dark gray cat before they resolved to “just shadows”.

Jim texted me his order and I went in to get some food for us.   This past weekend has been mostly relaxing and I’ve tried to keep my thoughts on the Now – rather than the future that Monday will bring or the past that can neither be fixed nor changed.

I’m trying to be mindful of my breath.  The passage of time from an inhale to an exhale – and the timeless moment between. 

There are still gasps and dramatic sighs.  Still snorts of derision and sharp intakes of air.  

But mostly there are the breaths that simply happen – uncounted and unnoticed, but still necessary and inevitable.

I am not yet okay.  Maybe none of us really are anymore.  But I’m doing my best and I’m still breathing.

And feeling worse about feeling good…

Yesterday morning, Jim drove me to the vet hospital to pick up Thunder’s ashes.  They brought out a form for me to sign – because there’s always a form – and handed me a gift bag of sorts. Seriously. Thunder’s ashes were in a plastic bag, in a cloth bag, in a decorative tin – along with a condolence card and a cement cast of his paw print.  I wasn’t expecting that last thing and seeing the print of his tiny paw got me choked up.

We went home and I put these things in a box along with some of his toys, his collar, and the paperwork from when I adopted him.

And then I went to bed for most of the day.

I’ve been doing that a lot more lately – the worst was last week after an impossible day at work.  I logged off, let the dogs out, then went to bed.  I got up a couple hours later to eat a bowl of cereal for dinner, then back to bed for the rest of the night. 

Which is not good.  Not by a long shot.  But it’s seductive to sleep your cares away. To not have to think and dwell on…well, everything. Hello, pandemic?   So I sleep and try not to dream.

When I’m awake, I’m feeling bad.  And feeling bad about feeling bad.  I recognize my life is still pretty great – shouldn’t that counter work stress and the loss of my cat?    But when I run the emotional math, things don’t balance out.    Even with all the great things, even with all the good luck I have, I’m still down and dazed.  And sleeping too much. 

But then I have a moment where things are okay.  The dogs will pile on me and it’s impossible to be sad when they do that.  Or Jim will bring me a cookie unbidden, just because.    And there’s a smile again and some happiness.

And then I catch myself.  Wait, why am I happy?  I’m still depressed and overwhelmed – I can’t have it both ways.

But, as Jim has patiently reminded me, none of this is a straight line.  There’s no sequence with grief.  And though I was relieved I had jumped past the Denial and the Anger and went right on into Depression, it didn’t mean I was on a fast track to Acceptance.

So, I’m staying close to home and trying to keep my tasks and my thoughts small.  Back to work again tomorrow, but for now there are cups of tea and a box of memories.    

I have a warm and safe home. My job is a little miserable right now, but I don’t have to battle traffic or worry that it will just go away.  I have plenty to eat and fast internet – and people that love me.   (I should have ranked “people that love me” ahead of “fast internet”, but, well…)

I’ll get through this.  And I’ll have better days – with more daylight – as time goes on.  And I’m lucky for what I have, even when faced with a loss. 

So, it’s time to settle down again and sit quietly.  And acknowledge that it’s okay to feel bad – and rest when I need to so that I can feel better.

When it’s time.

I decided, in January of 2013, to get a cat.  I bought a litter box, cat food and toys, and a carrier.  Then I picked out a name and went to find a cat to match.  It didn’t take me long to find one I liked and though he didn’t care for the car ride home, he seemed happy enough when we got there. 

I let him out of the carrier inside and gently tossed him in the litter box so he knew where it was.

And so, I had a cat.

He learned his new name quickly and was usually waiting for me at the top of the steps when I got home.  If he wasn’t there I could call out “ThunderCat, hooooooo!” and he would come running.

It was his best trick.

He didn’t meow much, but he had an amazing purr.  Sometimes he would purr so loud and so forcefully that I was afraid he would hurt himself – but he just kept going.  We tried having him sleep in my bed at night, but the purr would keep me up.

If I was sick or had a bad headache, he would hop up on the bed or couch with me and lick my head.  It was his version of a “cat scan” – and I let him do it, though I would usually douse myself with hand-sanitizer when he was done since I knew where else he’d been licking.

Thunder kept me company in my house – following me around or checking in on me.  He didn’t like to be held or cuddled  – but would tolerate both for a time.  And the belly rubs were the very definition of softness until the claws came out and the session was over. Always on his terms.

There was excitement when he would race from window to window – tracking birds and squirrels and other neighborhood animals.  And a crumpled up ball of paper was sheer delight for my cat. But mostly it was lazy days of living his best life.

When Jim and I moved into a home together, there was an adjustment period.  The two dogs quickly learned to stay out of Thunder’s way and the Jim’s older cat Sophie and Thunder had a wary truce.  The younger Max and Thunder would yell at each other and the fur flew a few times – sometimes gray and sometimes orange.  As long as neither snuck up on the other, they settled down. 

Thunder seemed to be losing weight and I chalked it up to stress or being picky about sharing a food dish.  So, I started feeding him wet food that he couldn’t resist several times a day.  He enjoyed it, but it didn’t seem to help. 

Thunder started to spend less time sitting at my desk with me and more time in the basement.  When even the wet food wasn’t as enticing, I got him to the vet.  The bloodwork and the symptoms pointed to intestinal lymphoma – a common cancer in cats – and it explained the weight loss that no amount of “seafood shreds” could cure. 

He got much weaker and took to hiding behind the furnace in the basement – the warmest and safest part of the house – and wouldn’t come out or move much.  

Knowing that he was hurting and scared – and that he wasn’t going to get better – I talked to the vet and made the difficult decision to have him put to sleep for his own sake.

I made the appointment and then Jim and I loaded him into the car in his carrier – the same one I had first brought Thunder home in – for the last time. 

We got to the vet hospital and they had us wait in a room with him.  He purred a little while Jim and I both petted him and Thunder’s expressive tail moved slowly back and forth.  The tech came in and took him to get an IV put in, then brought him back on a blanket so I could hold him.  He was so small and fragile, but still purring in my arms. 

And then it was time to say goodbye. 

The vet came back in and gave him an injection.  His purring stopped and he fell asleep in moments.  She checked his heartbeat and he was already gone.  I held him a moment, then Jim helped me take off Thunder’s collar.  I was choked up, but managed to quietly thank Thunder for being my cat before the vet took him away. 

When we were alone in the room with an empty carrier, I lost it.  Jim tried to help console me, but he was in no better shape.

Finally, we settled down and after going through a ton of tissues we were ready to go.  I picked up the too-empty carrier and headed out into the cold.

When I got home, I called my folks to let them know what happened.  And as we talked, Jim’s cat Sophie hopped up on the bed with me to keep me company.  It was deeply sad, but comforting as well.

I had asked that Thunder be cremated and I’ll get his ashes in a few days.  I wrote a haiku in his honor and over time I’ll go through his things and see what we can use and what can be donated or thrown away.

Our home now has two cats and two dogs, but the mighty purr of Thunder is gone.  He was my cat and my friend and I will miss him.

Goodbye, Thunder(cat). 

She led me into the darkened room, the light from even the unusually bright candle insufficient to chase the shadows from the corners.

The candle sat on a small writing desk along with a stack of blank pages, their edges carefully aligned, and an ornate pen at the ready.  To the side, a metal bowl and stone pestle lay.  And opposite these items, a small bottle made of dark glass  – its mouth filled with a metal funnel and its cork nearby.

She gestured for me to sit and I picked up the pen as I did so. 

“So do I…?” I began and she cut me off with a stern command  – as one used to commanding and being obeyed.

“Write.  All of them,”

“All of…?”

“All of your lies.  Every one of them,”

“I don’t…” I began, but almost unbidden the pen leaped to the page, pulling my hand with it.  Or so it seemed.

The words on the page, scratched out by my suddenly feaverish hand, told every falsehood I had ever uttered or whispered to my own secret heart. 

A sated stomach and the greedy “I’m hungry”.

Misplaced blame and the lie to reinforce it.

Plausible denial on my taxes. Slurred words behind the wheel. An accident – on purpose. 

A page filled and set aside.  Then…

“I love you (you bore me)”  “I hate you (I need you),”  “I missed you (leave me alone),” “It’s been too long (not long enough),”

The pen now a blur as the lies poured from me, transcribed to the page and then another and then a mantra appeared…

I’m fine I’m fine I’m okay I’m fine I’m okay I’m okay okay okay fine fine finefine finefinefine I’M OKAY I’M FINE.

Line after line until my hand cramped and the nib of the pen dug into the paper, tearing through the sheet to the desk below. 

“Enough, “ she said and I pried the pen from my hand and dropped it to the desk.  It rolled to the base of the candle, then stopped. I held my breath a moment as she leaned over and collected the pages, tapping them gently against the wood to re-align the edges. 

With a practiced hand, she rolled them into a thin, hollow cylinder – then handed them back to me. 

“Light them, “ she said, “And then hold them over the bowl for as long as you are able,”

I hesitated.  I felt no release or relief yet.  Was something supposed to happen or would it only be when the pages were consumed?

My hand shaking, I held the edge of the pages to the flame until they caught, then held the now burning paper over the bowl as ash began to drift down. 

I tilted my hand this way and that to keep the fire going, wary as the flames got closer and closer to my skin.. 

With a gasp, I dropped the pages and shook my fingers – drawing them to my lips to suck away the sudden pain. 

I heard a “tsk” of disappointment from her, as though I should let myself be burned, then we both watched as the fire consumed the rest of the paper and only ashes remained in the bowl.

She picked up the pestle and went to work on the clumps of ash, grinding them into the bowl until they were nearly dust.   With a practiced hand and the aid of the funnel, she transferred this powder into the bowl – and knocked the last of the cooling ash loose with a final tap.  

Funnel put aside, she corked the bottle and set it in front of me – then stood with hands clasped behind her back, her body language nearly shouting that she was done with me. 

I looked at the bottle, then at her.

“Do I carry this with me?” I asked and she gave the slightest of shrugs.

“You always have, “ she answered, “And you always will,”

With that, she turned and stepped into the shadows of the room, leaving me with the ashes of my lies. 

I paused for a moment, but only a moment, then picked the bottle and stood. 

And stepped into my own shadows.