Emotional Material Explosion

Saving $200 a month by emptying a storage unit maintained at significant cost since Hurricane Sandy.  Before digital archiving, before smartphone, before tablets: an emotional minefield.

Each box with contents forgotten or unknown until the aged tape is wrestled off, each one a time capsule able to steal hours of reflection or paralysis in processing or deciding what to do next.

Imagine having a garage full of boxes from the toddlerhood of a now adult-sized child.  They take up most of the space of themselves.  Now unpack each one and decide what to do with what's inside.  In order to sort through the contents of each take up three times the space: why it's called 'unpacking'.  So it looks and feels much worse before it gets better.

When will we be on the other side of the curve is unknown: when there's less to clear and finish from having started, no point of reference for a midpoint - where or when.  It's disorienting, and exhausting, and critical for moving on.

Cherished items attached to concrete memories still kept.  Compounded loss trauma from what could not be salvaged before now.  What we know he won't remember or care about goes to other children.  The rest will await his decision and approval.  Meanwhile the process of purging remains painful, in the energy required and what it stirs up.

Time stands still, though not really.  The day feels over as soon as it started, with the exhaustion of having harvested a cornfield, only it isn't just physical.  It's mourning for time gone that can't be recovered, and what might have been that wasn't.

Technology

It was inevitable.  Sooner or later, it would only be a matter of time before the dogged late adopter that I am would be the recipient of the update that replaces what the system will no longer support.

It could no longer be avoided.  I am now tethered to email via phone.  I look differently now at others who once were annoying by constantly looking at their devices.

It's no longer necessary to take the tablet everywhere when the phone will do the job most of the time now.  Anyone else with a computer in Starbucks now looks as though they are working on important projects.

It can save money with apps, where I used to download coupons and schlep the computer into the store and up to the cash register.  Now the barcode is on the phone.

This is probably amusing to read for anyone on a smartphone for years now.  I still am painfully aware how many on the planet struggle to get to school, and, as it was when I was growing up, no access to a phone until returning home, if then.  Landlines in impoverished areas are not likely in every home.   We don't think about how they communicate where they are.  Television in public places provide news.  Parents have no communication until they are home again from school, provided there's a real home.

We still take too much for granted, when all we have for sure is the present.  What we do today paves the way for tomorrow, almost always.  Our minds go from thought to material manifestation in minutes, or years, if we have the inspiration and tenacity to follow through.  Technology, when used wisely, can also help us help others to get to their next 'upgrade', as well.  One way or another, that might just be the purpose behind the purpose.

This post is being written on a phone for the first time.  The computer has timed out, and has to be restarted, again...

Bambi

I still can't watch the movie without crying; he lost his mother in the beginning.  It's not a cute name to be made fun of, let alone be adopted by a misogyny victim playboy bunny. 

I just watched a video of a doctor giving a baby deer CPR for nearly ten minutes, until it became conscious again to join his mother who was watching in the woods nearby.  I cried again.  Some would call her crazy, a doctor, with a pool the deer fell into; I don't think so.

We can't minimize the value of life, for any creature.  Did the Garden of Gethsemane compare to the duration of a term in a concentration camp where faith will not waiver there will be deliverance?  How did Nelson Mandela get through 27 years of hard labor without losing his mind enough to become the president of a country?  Miracles do happen every day.  We take too many of them for granted. 

And sometimes, when we may be given the opportunity to be part of a miracle, we don't know it when we see it.  I leave church late on a sunny day stopping to watch the geese graze on the property.  I don't take them for granted; they're as much a part of the sanctuary as the church itself.  I know everyone wouldn't agree with me. 

Every time I see a deer or cat walking across the field or near the parking area I feel as if I'm a stranger in someone's home.  I slow down or stop to take in the beauty of nature that only a higher power could have created.  They all exist for a reason, and sometimes it's to remind us what we can't take for granted, whether we're paying attention or not.  The truth is unwavering, whether we are aware of it or not. 

Words do not change facts simply by 'virtue' of being words, that can be used as much as weapons as vehicles for peace, which is not the absence of tension, but rather the presence of justice.  MLK was inspired to create a quote he originally found in scripture.  He didn't rely on what others said was written in the book.  He read it himself.  That knowledge was part of what set him apart.  It's easy now for some of us to take for granted the times he and those before him came through.  We can't.  None of us are guaranteed anything beyond the gift that is called the present.

The End Before the Beginning

It’s over.  The ‘showing up’ is over.  There will be things that require our presence, just not where we’ve been, likely ever again.  99% of the struggle and battles happened outside of the courtroom.  What remains of that now is a decision, after 12 childhood-stealing years, intended to preserve or salvage the same.  It was made worse from day one, only different than what was anticipated, according to what was written, according to what was taught and learned.  It's not the same in 'real life'.  And few would believe it unless it happened to them.

An only child no less, and it happens to those with multiple children.  The pain for all who care cannot be imagined.  Some don't make it.  Some can't endure.  It's just too much, and understandably so, only for those who've been there.  We wouldn't wish the same on an enemy; it could mean death: wrong to wish on anyone.

Can't look at the baby photos, or all that we had before it happened.  We have our memories, now fragmented and bittersweet.  Those that we cherished, none that can be taken for granted.  It hurts so much more when we see children who are not cherished, not wanted, or treated poorly.  Why are they with those who don't love them and do so much harm, and those who moved to do something to save their childhoods had their children taken away?  For many, they were 'sold'.

Losing the equivalent of a lifetime during a lifetime is indescribable.  Our losses were someone else's gain; there were several from the other beginning, none of whom really understood or seemed to care.  It was just another day 'at the office'.  One of many, not much different from any other in particular.  Just 'another case'.

There is no real 'winning'.  We've all already lost things we can't get back.  Some will realize it much later.  Too many of us already know.  There is no 'adjustment', only picking up what pieces are left to create a new mosaic.  All broken, creating a new picture nonetheless.  Some would say the cracks make us stronger, though we may not be as pretty on the outside.  They're vessels that can hold the nurturing waters for the future, so that no childhood is ever lost again.

Reunion at the Rainbow Bridge

Our family menagerie awaits us just over the Rainbow Bridge.  Smandie and Elvis went to join Charlie last week.  Elvis was unexpected, and Smandie followed just over a day later.  It was almost too much, especially with the original owner out of town.

Our remaining healthy younger flirtatious boy, Jack, went to Elvis' adoptive home, with their consent.  They had fallen in love with Elvis as we had.  He tended to nip occasionally, which kept him at pet status, as opposed to being qualified as an emotional therapy pet.  Jack is, and is already bringing love and smiles to his new family, including their dog.

It's sad suddenly with most of our guinea pigs having gone to play over The Bridge, and the last gone to a new home, since they had lost Elvis after only having had him three weeks.  We knew he was old, though not that he would begin to fade so soon and pass just days later.

The boy a guinea pig saved had wanted to keep our oldest remaining: Smandie.  She had brought many smiles in a hotel room after Hurricane Sandy.  Now we have her in our hearts, memories, and photos.  Same for Elvis; he was so easy to love by all who met him, whether he nipped or not.  All of them went to the other side having been in loving arms; none went alone while anyone was away or not with them.  We are especially blessed for that.  It was as if they held on until we were home for them to say 'goodbye'.

Charlie has her two playmates back, as Peaches and Lucy look down from their heavenly perches, singing new songs that all of their pet family friends now understand.  They're all happy and healthy again and playmates as well with the children who skip blissfully among them.

There was little time to cry, and so much the better.  The sooner we move on as our friends now on the other side look on, the sooner the little boy who now almost looks like a man can be at a place to pick the next furry friend in his own time, giving holding such a creature a new and renewed meaning.

Au Revoir, Chuchi; Bon Voyage, Elvis (until we meet again)

Parting is such sweet sorrow.  You are loved very much.  So much that we want you to be with families that want to make you the center of their love for a long and healthy life, with other playmates just like you, and extra time and attention for play and happiness.

There's much going on now that may not allow for much fun in the present or near future, so we had to decide what was best for you.  We will miss you very much, though by now you may realize there's more fun to be had where you are, and you may be missing us less than we miss you already.

You are close by enough for us to visit, and we look forward to hearing about all of the news of your new friends and families.  We wish you plenty of extra treats, smiles, and snuggles by your new friends and humans.

You are both beautiful and special: the reasons we found you.  Taking care of you until your forever families could welcome you may have been part of the plan, as they could not have found you on their own.  We were brought together for your safety, love, and comfort until a place where you could thrive even more wanted you very much, a place that only we could take you to.

Until later, we will have our memories and visit again in our dreams.  You deserve only the best.

Goodbye, Charlie

When the last post was written, it wasn't really known Charlie wouldn't last the month.  During her last evening I was fortunate to have the privilege to be able to provide water, food, vitamin C, and what love I could.  I didn't know she was trying to say goodbye when she turned her whole body around just to catch my eye.  She could only move with her front paws, so the effort was significant. 

I praised her for turning around on a towel she was resting on in a chair; she couldn't really move much from the size of the tumors that had take over her body.  While administering her vitamins I didn't realize what her clicks as opposed to her unique sounds and the color of her teeth meant: she was in fact dying. 

Upon checking her after dinner I found her limp.  I don't know if her heart was still beating when I picked her up and began to cry; she was still warm, at the center of her body, though 'gone' by all appearances.  I immediately texted her original owner and other family.  The plan was to be together at the summer place and euthanize her there.  Two other pets were buried there on the mountain from an earlier year: a tropical bird who caught a chill and couldn't recover, and another who became too weak after losing a toe to another aggressive bird.

My son didn't want Charlie kept cold until we could make the trip, and asked that she be buried near the home where we were.  The next morning she still wasn't fully cold and remained limp in the exact same position I'd left her in her cage, wrapped in a towel with her face showing.

She was gently placed in the same towel in a box that had held some very expensive shoes.  I took her in a shopping bag to where my son asked she be buried.  It was an effort in the morning hours, though it felt as though we were protected from onlookers wondering what might be in the box.  Once I'd actually succeeded in getting her final resting place covered I remained on my knees, in tears.

She had her own unique sounds and personality.  She was our first, with lots of memories, and pictures.  We know she's crossed 'the rainbow bridge' with two little birds saying hello again where time doesn't exist, waiting for when we can all play together again.

Charlie the Lifesaver

She saved my son's life at a critical time, and taught him another form of love.  For a long time, they were regular friends.  A boy religiously took care of her, changing her bedding, food, and water daily.  She got time out of her cage almost daily, too, and a regular memory is a short video of her jumping what looked like two feet into the opening of her 'home' that had her nameplate on the outside of it.

She continued to jump onto the platform of her cage, without the ramp, most of the time with its door open, to the food dish, and down again for the hay and water.  She would also jump when happy, and take short, happy sprints when let out on the floor to cover more ground.

Time changes things.  She has her own personality, and was always loved.  A boy grew into a young man, and trips to and from became too much.  So Charlie's cage remained at Mom's house, and the sound of a young boy's voice became unrecognizable to her, as it went from that of a child to that of a young man.

Mom and the family continued to give love, and not as much time out of the cage as we would have wished, had things been different.  There were other guinea pigs, one or two, that had their own personalities and ways of wanting to be active, or not.  None of them got whatever overtook Charlie.

The vet said surgery would likely not be successful.  Guinea pigs don't do well with anesthesia.  Her belly is swollen as if there's a large litter of pups in there, though Charlie never mated.  She was acquired from the pet store as a pup herself.  She had fit in a small child's hands: the best friend whose life she made different and even more valuable at a critical time.

Tumors, cancer or not, have inexplicably overtaken Charlie's body.  She can no longer jump onto her platform.  Her food dish must be nearby.  She has difficulty moving across the cage from the size of her body.  The vet said to keep her comfortable, so she gets the softest bedding, changed daily.  It's not really enough; Charlie can't move much, though does the best she can...

The vet said so long as she acts like a guinea pig.  She was sick a time or two before she started to get bigger.  She still has an appetite and sounds like her old self, though she doesn't look happy.  Soon we will likely have to decide when to allow her to cross the rainbow bridge.  She may not lose her appetite again, or become so big her unhappiness makes the decision inevitable.  It's sad to see her every day; her body can't be free from the ground, her back legs struggle to move her lower half.  She must be picked up gently to give her vitamin C, and her underside washed to keep her cleaner. 

When one loves an animal or a person, we don't see what they've become; we see what we loved first.  Holding Charlie as she makes her signature sounds only reminds us of when she was little.  We are saddened that her days appear shorter than others like her, and that we may have to decide what her last day is to be.  Miracles do happen.  I pray that something lets go in her body and that she just starts to get smaller again.  If the loved ones on the other side of the rainbow bridge need her more, she will go there to be happy and jump high again.  Maybe before that she can give comfort to someone else who's sick.  Only time will tell.  We love you, Charlie.

The God Thing

I'm understanding more, and reading the bible, taking classes to improve what I already knew.  I'm understanding what others like to communicate, though I'm not sure it works for everyone.  Equating Jesus with God works in some circles, not in others.

Using the Son of God first with everyone doesn't always work.  Recognizing God is universal.  He and his son don't really mind how we get it across, for the most part.  Seeking a higher power and acknowledging it is what's most important.  Encouraging others to read the bible as opposed to our interpretations is better whenever possible.  It's the most read book, by very successful people, for a reason. 

I could say more, in a better place spiritually than I have been.  When Jesus is 'denied' from lack of information, God isn't.  He understands the shortcomings of ignorance, and doesn't ignore the prayers of those who seek him in earnest who don't ask for his son first, or at all.

Denying God altogether is another matter, yet we are not to get caught up in that either.  We are to be instruments for the 'open', by example.  Running against walls defeats the purpose.  Yet some insist on doing it anyway.  Sometimes silence is simply the best option, except when others are suffering who have no voice.

Deliverance

Ladies prayer group (okay, 'women's': sexist conditioning kicks in again).  Who knew.  No one showed up the day after the long holiday weekend.  None but one.  The one whose book I'm reading, along with biblical texts, and another on mega giving.  It's all helping.

Getting up today, I had to go; hadn't been yet.  Participating in lots of other stuff, but that. So I went, theology books in hand in case no one was there.  It's a special place, and a school.  The kids there don't know how lucky they are yet, at least most of them.  Some appear to thrive.

Showing up and drawing interest, caring, compassion, enthusiasm.  It couldn't have been just my choosing to go, it was more, much more.  The calm before the storm.  I was accepted, not criticized or scrutinized.  That would be an understatement.  Just being myself and honest, a cheerleader appeared.

Was I kicking someone off the throne?  If I did, I didn't get on it either.  Did I want to feel them at 'my level'?  Perhaps.  Therein lies an argument, that doesn't have to be one.  Is the spirit here, or above?  I argue it's everywhere, at all times, not called upon enough.

We can't wrap our heads around in our tiny human minds that everything is known in advance, though can still be changed by reaching out, to the right places.  As big as we can imagine isn't big enough; we haven't seen it all, yet.