Tuesday, March 30, 2010

March 30, 2010

It's amazing how the last eighteen days have all slid together in a kind of whirlwind of activity without defining detail. Hours in the vet hospital holding a bony, drug-eyed cat in our arms, feeling the purr begin in his throat, the settling of his body into our curves. When he gets home, he is as normal as he can be; his sisters pretend he's never been away, give him quick sniffs, lick his poor fur. We watch his every move for signs of another episode, but none yet. He has returned to sleeping on my pillow, sniffing for treats at our dinner times, plastering himself to our shoulders when we sit. Aside from caring for him, we have the responsibility of our mothers once more - duties that we have foisted off onto our siblings in the interim. It's not that we resent this at all; in fact, we have missed these two strong, interesting women very much. But there in an intendant guilt, an underlying feeling that we could do so much more. Rose falls and injures her face; we are worried about her state of mind. Maureen appears to be robust and healthy, but her favourite word is still "boring". Her dear family friend dies shortly after we arrive home and I take her to the funeral. She asks me three times, who died? and then feels bad all over again when I tell her. But she is gracious to the family, supportive and sympathetic, and I don't think they notice. I kind of enjoy the funeral, if such a thing can be said, because these are the people from my childhood, the quintessential '50's neighbourhood, and we had miles of fun. I reconnect with the friend with whom I cried as Howdy Doody went off the air forever. I am also consumed with children and grandchildren and my writing. The business of the writing as well as the craft. I spend so many hours at my computer! The best part of the return, though, are those wonderful hugs from my daughter and grandchildren. When Catey runs across the gym at the school day care, a smile suffusing her face, and throws herself into my arms, I am as joyful as I can ever be, deep inside in a very important part of my Self. When Ben cuddles in my arms, sick with a fever, there is nothing more poignant. When I look into Jordan's strong, handsome face as he tells me his nineteen-year-old hopes and angst, I am overwhelmed with love and hope and dreams. Easter weekend, I get to wrap my arms around the other grandchildren and I literally shiver in anticipation to see their gorgeous little faces, hear their sweet high voices speaking Gramma. And for the first time, to smell and feel that new baby head when we hold Luca for the first time. Home, sweet home.
Post a Comment