One year gone

Today marks one year since Gordo died. He was cremated and I planted tiger lilies (given to me by a thoughtful and knowing friend) above the place in our yard where I scattered the ashes. The flowers bloomed and then died, and I fretted until my friend told flowers for Gordome they would grow back again the next season.

One day recently, Ian started to accidentally mow over the burial spot and the lawn mower—which is electric and had full batteries—sputtered and stopped working. “Gordo says hi,” he told me later.

The flowers are growing again now, and should bloom soon.

In the year since Gordo died, I’ve thought about him often. Every day, most likely, since I see things all over the house that remind me of him. I almost started crying when I opened a box of Band Aids recently—peeling off their wrappers would cause him to come running from wherever he was and he would beg to be able to eat the paper.

At first I wasn’t sure how I’d sleep, since every night for nearly 16 years he would curl up under my chin and purr me to sleep, but soon after he was gone BK started sleeping where he used to. She tried to be sneaky about it at first—she’d climb into bed this is how we sleptand get between Ian and me as usual, but when I would wake up in the morning she’d be on my right side, snuggled up to me and my pillow just like Gordo used to. (Well, almost. She’s not super into being spooned like he was.) Now, though, she is pretty obvious about what she’s doing and many nights she’ll immediately settle down next to me and start purring. I’m not sure if she set out to intentionally comfort me, but it worked. It still works.

I don’t see him in Dragon (what we finally settled on as a name for the male foster kitten we ended up adopting) at all, which is a relief. I was so afraid I was subconsciously trying to replace him by adopting another male ginger cat, but he’s pretty much the exact opposite of Gordo. He’s a kinetic ball of energy, and is both skittish and brave at the same time. He isn’t too fond of people, but he loves BK and King Boo and Stella is his best friend. He’s not super cuddly, and I don’t think I could ever hold him long enough to cry into his fur, but he brings a different joy and energy into the house.

And this morning, I woke up with both him and BK sleeping next to me.

I knew the feelings of hollow sadness wouldn’t last forever, but it’s a relief to have made it a year and be able to think back easily and sweetly of the time I spent with Gordo. He was one cool cat who lived a good, long life. So rest in peace, old buddy. I’ll be drinking in your honor today.

RIP Gordo

Our dreams betray our fears

I had a dream last night that I was dying of cancer. I had just been diagnosed and was given a year to live, maybe. There was a 10 percent survival rate for the kind of cancer I had. I stressed that to everyone who said maybe I’d make it through. “Ten percent,” I said. It was inevitable. I was going to die.

I think I remember telling people the cancer was in the back of my mouth and spread to my lungs, like the squamous cell carcinoma my cousin had, but it wasn’t the same thing. She was in the dream, too, along with her husband, kids and my aunt (her mother). They played a part, but I think eventually that morphed into another dream. Can you have two dreams simultaneously?

Most of all, I remember the overwhelming feelings of fear and sadness. I was distraught about knowing that I was going to leave Ian all alone. Alone to deal with the dog, the cats and the house. To deal with the world alone. I hugged him, crying, and told him he should find somebody else after I died so he wouldn’t be alone forever. I was so concerned about him being left alone and I felt the weight of that crushing me. I didn’t know you could feel lonely for someone else, but I did and it was gut-wrenching.

I also remember being scared of the pain that would come with dying. With getting sick from chemo. How my hair would fall out, and I’d be nauseated all the time and lose my strength and my bones would show through my skin. I would waste away to nothing and then disappear.

Our neighbor was in the dream, too. I walked to her house with Stella to tell her about what was going to happen to me. At one point, I think she morphed into Red from Orange Is the New Black. We watched the episode last night that dealt with Rosa’s cancer and treatment, so I guess that’s where this all came from.

Everything in the dream felt so rushed. I was visiting people and making plans because I was getting ready to start chemo, but really I was preparing for my death. It was inevitable. The dream was the last of my days before I started chemo. The last of my days before I had to accept that I was dying. Before I really started the dying.

I always thought that my greatest fear was death because of the ceasing to exist. But last night I was more scared of the pain and process of dying and leaving my loved ones behind. I woke up feeling sad, but not crying. I was uncomfortable. I still am.

The Michael Jackson that died yesterday is not the one you are mourning

I don’t understand the “He’s gone too soon” reaction to Michael Jackson’s death. Two days ago, Michael Jackson was a broke pedophile freakshow living in Dubai. We were never going to get another Thriller, another Off the Wall, even another Bad.

It’s always sad when someone dies, especially 30 or so years before normal life expectancy. But Michael Jackson wasn’t normal. Did we really expect to see him at 80 sitting in a rocking chair on a porch some day?

At one time, he was an extraordinary talent: He made incredible music and danced like no human will ever be able to perfectly replicate.

But the Michael Jackson that everyone is mourning today?

He died years ago.