My Bud

This past winter was pretty bad by all accounts.  It was one of those weather events that take place every decade.  You know where you have a shit ton of ice and snow for three months of the year and then the next 10, hardly any?   Yeah. That was what this past winter was like.  It reminded me of the last big winter we had.  That was back in 2003.    We got a lot of snow dumped on us.  So much in fact, most of my town pretty much shut down and I was able to walk up the middle of a major roadway to the grocery store in the early evening without encountering a vehicle.

It was February 2003 and also President’s Day Weekend.   I was living in a townhouse with a small patch of yard off my back stoop that ended in a chain link fence.  Beyond the fence was brush.  And In that brush there lived a rabbit, which we named Russell.  I don’t know if it was a boy or girl, but we were pretty sure the same rabbit kept coming to my back door.

We had been feeding Russell for a while and, at one point, were able to feed him/her directly from our hands.  And when the snow hit, we felt bad because we had sort of screwed Russell by feeding him/her.

(I’m going to just keep calling it a him for the sake of this story.  Any objections?  Good.)

So, because Russell had sort of become accustomed to us feeding him, he might have had trouble foraging for himself.   I got a box and some alfalfa hay and set up a little shelter on my back stoop.  I had hoped I would look outside my dining room door and see Russell asleep in the box, snuggled and warm.  But that Friday, when I looked out, I saw something else, a threat.

Instead of Russell, I saw this black and white cat sitting next to the box where some food had been placed for Russell.  Fearing this stray cat would attack Russell, I leaned out the door and tried to shoo it away.   The lanky cat looked up at me and mewed this long mew that seemed rather pathetic.  But I wasn’t about to doom Russell, so I continued to shoo away the cat and eventually, it left.  I went about my day and when my girlfriend came over that night, she looked out the back to see the cat had returned.

“There’s a cat out there!”

“Again?  Dammit, I shooed that thing away this morning.  I don’t want it eating Russell.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!?!?!”

“I shooed it away.”

“Oh my God!  What is wrong with you?  There’s like a foot of snow out there.  The poor thing!”

“Just leave it be, it will go back to its home.”

“I don’t think it has one.  I’m going to go get it.”

“Don’t do that!”

This was the normal routine.  She would see some animal outside roaming around, go get it and then we’d be stuck with a big ass dog or something… actually I would be stuck with it, while we located the owner.  I should mention that I am allergic to cats, by the way.   My eyes puff out, get itchy and watery, and I sneeze.  It’s not fun.  Also, my lease forbid cats unless I paid an extra fee, probably for cleaning.

But off she went, anyways.  I’d hear this exchange of her calling it and it mewing at her go back and forth for a few minutes.   Eventually, she got it to come to the door.  She opened the sliding glass door and waited.  Within a few minutes, the cat just slinked right into my dining room, snow up to its hips.

“Well, now what the hell am I going to do with it?”

“Name him.”

“You do realize I am allergic?  And that I am not allowed to have a cat?”

“So?”

That was it.  That was her argument.  She excused herself and went to the store.  

“I’m just going to get a cheap litter box and some food.  We’ll figure out where he belongs in the morning.”

February 2003

She came back with a litter box, a mini cat tree, food, and treats.   I was livid.   But he looked pathetic.  He appeared to be emaciated and had been in a fight because he had fur missing and some scratches on his neck.   My girlfriend gave him some milk.  We determined it was a him, while Russell was just assumed to be one.  And we gave him some food.  And against better judgment I let the cat stay in my bedroom with the litter box next to my bed.   During the night, I heard him use the litter box and the stench was almost as bad as the sound.  It was like a scene out of Dumb and Dumber.  I could literally see his face in excruciating pain.  He looked like he was actually sweating from the duress. 

In the morning, we took him to the vet.  He was suffering from malnutrition, some cuts, a touch of frostbite, and he was riddled with worms.  Apparently, he had been on his own for a while.  He had now become my responsibility.    It helped that I had an extra day off from work to deal with this, but I still wasn’t happy about it.  I didn’t exactly have a say in the matter.  Still, the bastard was cute and had a lot of personality.  So, I kept him.  Now, I just needed a name.  Drake, Ash, Shadow.  All rejected.  Baxter?  No, too commercial.  I’m an actor and this was a tuxedo cat, so Oscar seemed to be the most appropriate.   

I spent the evenings with him sitting next to me on the couch and when I would go to bed, I would usually close my door.  Thankfully, I moved the litter box to another bedroom, but still, he wanted to be with me.  So, I’d leave the door open and he’d come in and get on the bed.  Then, he’d promptly, walk around my pillow, stepping on me and getting in my face.  He was a real pain in the ass.  Eventually, I figured out that if I sat with him on the couch long enough, he would fall asleep, and then I could sneak upstairs as long as I left the TV on with a timer set.   That way I could get a night’s sleep without his interruptions.   Some days, he figured out my plan and raced me to the steps.

He had some pretty interesting habits.  He would walk up to a toy and promptly stomp on it with his back paw.  He loved sitting on the tile at the bottom of my steps, where it was cool.  He would sit in the window and just chitter at the birds.  He also liked sitting on the arms of my couch with one leg dangling to the side.   He had these huge back legs that were white and resembled those socks you wore up to your knees in the 70s.    We also developed a bit of a rapport with each other.  I would see him in the morning before I’d go to work and would head boop him on my way out the door.  We even came up with a voice with him that was sort of a caricature of a friend’s.   It wasn’t until he came face to face with a dog at the back window that he made this noise that sounded like “Water, Water, Water, Water,” that made me realize that the voice I did was actually spot on as his own.

But he was also ornery.  And my then girlfriend now, at that moment, fiancée made the determination that he needed a playmate.  I needed to get another cat.  So, I adopted another tuxedo cat named Emmy.  Get it.  Oscar and Emmy.  He was never a huge eater but he was a big cat.  I want to say he was part Maine Coon except he was a short hair.   We had to keep Emmy separate from him because she would woof down her dinner and then go after his. 

I outgrew the townhouse and moved into a house with my fiancée and two cats, followed by two more, twins Willow and Lucy. Oscar was a bit of a puss and hid immediately, while Emmy explored.    He was burdened with being the only male cat in the house and even though he asserted his dominance, Emmy never submitted to him.  She was taken from her mother and litter mates too soon and developed an OCD about things like eating.  In fact, at one point, she tried and succeeded in nursing off of Oscar, though he never produced anything except self-shame over the matter.  I always said I had three cats, Emmy, Willow, and Oscar, and Oscar had a cat, Lucy.   Lucy seemed to follow him wherever he went.  If he lied on the couch, she snuggled up on top of him, almost.  If it was dinner time, he’d take his time coming to the kitchen and even wander through, but Lucy would cut him off or go round him up vocally and physically.   When we slept, he would lay on a pillow between us, and then of course, Lucy would come up and get in his face.  He put up with a lot.  For almost ten years he and I just shook our heads at each other over how we lost control of things.   Then again, I never wanted him in the first place.  

 Snuggle buds

After my daughter was born, Oscar started to become a lap cat.  He loved having his ears stroked as he sat on your lap.  He loved it.  He’d purr like an engine then he would shake his head out when you stopped.    Among his growing number of idiosyncrasies, he added busting down the unsecured bathroom door while you were in there, hopping up on the edge of the tub to watch the water droplets roll down the side, and not really eating the shreds or chunks of wet food, but eating the gravy.   He’d even get on the floor and roll on his back, enticing me to join him, only to move just out of reach when I would get down on the floor with him.  Still, every morning when I would go to work, I’d call him up on the piano bench and head boop him as I left.

Waiting for the head boop

Then, in 2012 and 2013, we were beset by fleas thanks to the strays in the neighborhood.  They somehow found their way onto our clothing and then onto our indoor only cats.   We wasted a lot of money on sprays and collars and eventually kicked the cats out of our bedroom at night because we were finding fleas in our bed.

After a while I noticed Oscar was losing weight.  He had always been big, somewhere in the neighborhood of 12-14 lbs.   Now, I could feel his breastbone under his neck.  We took him to the vet and learned he had lost considerable weight.  I thought it was due to the stress of the fleas.  Turns out, it wasn’t.   One day, we noticed a pile of cat shit on the carpet.  We didn’t know who to blame, one of the drawbacks of having four cats.    Then, again, another pile.    Soon, we realized it was Oscar.  We also realized there was blood in the stool.   Another trip to the vet solidified my fears.  He had a mass in his stomach and he had lost more weight.

We treated him with metronidazole thinking it was simply a bacterial infection or parasite.  That and steroids should have done the trick, though it was hard to give him the metronidazole because he would instantly drool everywhere.  Two rounds and no change in his condition started to scare me.  They did a sonogram to confirm the mass and did a biopsy that showed no cancer, so the determination was Feline Inflammatory Bowel Disease or IBD.  He would go, straining to do so, and then vomit from the effort.   He was now 7 lbs.  This once magnificent animal was half the cat he was a year ago.

There isn’t a cure and eventually it will cause him greater discomfort and more weight loss as the tissue builds up preventing the cat from getting nutrients.   Nausea sets in and he even refuses to eat.  This is what I had to look forward to.

So, I kept him on Prednisolone and he would get IV fluids to combat dehydration.   His urine was becoming dark and more pungent from the lack of water in his system.  Some days he would be just fine, playing and ornery. Others, he’d sit, uncomfortably, not laying on his side, like he was prone to do, curled up with his belly out, enticing me to just rub the shit out of it, showing me the shaved patch from his sonogram, a reminder of what was happening.

Last month, I went away for the weekend and I was informed that he simply refused to eat.  When I got him, he looked haggard, his fur not as silky as it used to be and there were cracks in his fur where I could see his skin between it.  Petting him, I could feel his skeleton under the skin.  This once beefy boy was not fragile and clumsy.  He didn’t slink around anymore.  He slipped around the floor with no weight to keep him grounded and solid.

My little girl went to the beach last week, and during our nightly calls, she asked if Oscar was still alive.  I said yes, he was right there next to me, but he was barely there.  He wouldn’t show interest in water or food, only responding to treats with very little success in chewing.  He wasn’t going to the bathroom that I could tell, but I would find brownish red splotches around the floor in the morning.  I was convinced that I wasn’t going to let him starve, so I grabbed a dropper and would take as many teaspoons of wet food gravy and water as I could get in him.   By Wednesday, he was scaring me.   I took him to the vet with the full expectation that I was going to put him down.  I cried most of the way there, cursing all the times I didn’t want him on my lap because I was busy or didn’t want to deal with the allergies.  Per usual, he waited until I was five minutes away to decide to shit in the car, mostly liquid.   

I arrived at the vet’s and took him inside.  He sat next to me, reeking of cat shit, which was now stuck to his tail.  I cleaned him up as best I could, but it was pretty bad.  Then, he started sniffing the air.   On the counter above us was a canister of treats.   I grabbed some and he began woofing them down, two, then three, then four more he ate.  I took him into the room.  5.58 pounds.  But now he was acting like there was nothing wrong with him.   There I was ready to make the toughest decision I’ve ever had to make and he rebounded on me.  It was like he simple needed to go.  I begin to think I should just drive him around every day before feeding him.  They gave him an IV of fluids, a vitamin B and anti-nausea shot.   He showed more life than he had all week. So, we went home. 

I had a night off from tech rehearsal but I was still exhausted.  I would wake up at 5:15am, give him his steroid pill, get a shower, go to work and leave at 4pm.  I would then go directly to my father-in-law’s to take care of his cats because he was also at the beach.   After feeding them, changing their water, and cleaning their litter, I’d go home, change, give Oscar his second pill, make myself a sandwich for dinner and then eat it on my way to the theater.   At 9:45pm, I’d return home, feed my cats, sit for a moment, and then take Oscar into the bathroom with the remaining dish of mostly gravy.  I would struggle to get that and water into him and then clean him up as best I could.  Then I would collapse and sleep for about five hours, ready to do it all again in the morning.

His marked improvement from the vet’s lasted all of 12 hours.  By Friday evening he was back to not eating anything.  In fact, he fought me more with the dropper.   I was worried more about him than ever.  So, I brought basket where he’d been sleeping most of the day into the bedroom and put him on the bed with a towel.  It was hard to get over that smell but I didn’t care.  I could reach out and rub his ears.   At one point, I even saw him cleaning himself.  Maybe, he was coming back from it.  I was at the point where I couldn’t take time off to deal with him in an extreme case.   I was screwed if he needed to go back to the vet, because I had a show on Saturday and Sunday afternoon.   All I wanted, at this point, was for him to make it until Sunday night, when my little girl got home.  I was determined to make sure he was fed and as comfortable as possible until her return.  A week ago, I almost prayed he went in his sleep.  That I could take care of it before she got home and spare her the pain of being here when it happened, but by Friday, I felt as if I wanted a return on my investment in him.  It was selfish, to be sure, but I already felt like I wasn’t giving him all I could and wanted him to hold out a little longer.

I was supposed to go out Saturday night but decided to stay in and look after him.  After all, I didn’t exactly have the energy or money to go out, so a nice quiet evening with him on my lap was in order.    I did my routine and took him to bed, again.  His breathing was raspier, now, and looked to take more effort to do so.  Around 3am, I heard this thump.  I shot up and looked around.  Hopefully, he just wanted a drink and decided to jump down and get one from the dish next to the bed.  I looked under the bed and he was just sitting there, like he normally did.  He acknowledged my presence and I kind of asked if he was OK, not really expecting an answer, but still looking for one.   He appeared to be fine, so I went back to bed. 

About 10 minutes later I heard this awful howl and cry.  I woke up again, and looked around.  I called out to him and then came around the other side and looked under the bed.  He was lying on his side, facing away from me, not moving.   He hadn’t been on his side in months.  I started to panic.  There was a small puddle of barf next to him.  I reached under and grabbed him and never acknowledged my presence.  I picked him up and lay him on the towel.   He was limp.  His eyes were blank.   I screamed out in shock but couldn’t understand why I wasn’t crying.   I just looked at him, calling his name in an empty house.   I leaned my ear to his chest and there was a release.    I’m by no means religious, but it was like I just heard his life leaving his body.   Then, there was nothing.  No beat, no movement, nothing.  He was gone.    

Then I wailed.  I screamed like a child.  I didn’t care.  I just looked at him, there on the bed, gone. 

I gathered him up and swaddled him in the towel, placing him gingerly in the basket.  I couldn’t leave him in here with me.  I wouldn’t be able to sleep.  So, I took him downstairs and placed him in the bathroom that nobody but myself actually uses.   He laid there with his face down into the basket, covered up.  His ears still poking out of the towel.  Those ears, that  I would I rub for hours, were the only thing left that I could look at.   It’s juvenile and silly, but I would bite them gently, at times, tugging just enough to get a purr out of him.  Now, that was gone, too.   All I could do was sleep.  It was the only thing I could do at 3:30am on a Sunday.

At 10:00am I called the vet’s and explained what happened.  They would be open until 12:00.  I still had a show to do.   So, I made that last drive, rubbing his still visible ear the whole way.  I wanted two things back from them.  The basket he slept in and his remains.  ONLY HIS REMAINS.  The towel and pad from inside the basket could be destroyed as far as I was concerned.    In about 7-10 days I’ll get a small oak box.  That’s all there will be. 

In the end, he made the decision I couldn’t.   I don’t know anything about awareness in animals but maybe he didn’t want me to struggle, thinking I made a mistake.  Maybe he didn’t want Bailey to see him go.    Truth is, he was gone a long time ago.  That big beefy boy that would rear up like a bronco against your leg stopped being Oscar at the end of April.    I leave in the morning, still expecting to see him on the bench.  I get a shower every morning, still expecting him to bust down the door.  I still sit there at night, expecting a visitor on my lap, or next to me, curled up like a cute little sonofabitch.

He went from my life, like he came in, all tail and ears.  He was emaciated then and he was at the time he called it for me.   He was an asshole that I loved like a child.  My sidekick, my Chewbacca, my friend, my Oscar.    I didn’t mind the allergies so much the last few years, but I know I didn’t pay him half the attention he deserved.  Life simply got in my way, like he would, walking through the kitchen.  And the others.   Bailey found out after she got home and cried terribly.   On Monday, Lucy, his cat, was wandering around looking for him downstairs, crying out.  At dinner time, she stood outside the kitchen, looking for him to show up.  I even forgot as I got down four bowls and realized what I had done.   Every drive home and every quiet moment is another reminder that he’s gone.  His favorite toys sit on the floor, no longer being stomped or batted around.    I miss him so much.  And he was the perfect cat.  No two ways about.  He was a social creature, always entertaining.  He was magnificent in his look and posture.  He was the height of too muchness.    

And I didn’t even want him.

Oscar
2002-2014

Graceful

I am in no way a very religious person. We’ll leave it at that. My kid already has a firm grasp on what death means when we lost my mother-in-law. No child should have to experience a loss like that at the age of two. Still, she’s a trooper and managed to come out wiser than her peer group. And while I may not hold the same belief structure as my wife, I am trying to honor her wishes and raise our daughter in alignment with hers. When she gets older, she can eventually make her own decisions based on all the available information about what she chooses to believe.

That all being said, at the dinner table in our home, we do say grace. Usually, my wife or father-in-law will be the one to say it. Although, this past Sunday, my daughter wanted to take a stab at it. Wondering where this was going to go and expecting a train wreck, we entertained her request and prepared for something out of the ordinary. At least, we’d get a laugh out of it.

Here's a dramatic re-enactment.

I shit you not. She went into the full version of the Pledge of Allegiance, word for word, spot on. As she was saying it, my wife and I both slowly looked up and then at each other, smiling from ear to ear.

Apparently, she learned this at preschool. My father-in-law said, “How many four year-olds can do that?” I guess at least one classroom full.

For Thanksgiving, we’re hoping she whips out the “Star Spangled Banner”.
Somewhere, in the aether, there is a shit eating grin and cackles of laughter. It would have made her Grammy’s day.

Emails Written That Will Never Be Sent

Today marks the one year anniversary of the passing of my mother-in-law. In true of our relationship, I’ll compose an email that will never get sent. We both worked for the same company up until her death and we usually communicated via email throughout the day.

---

Good morning,

Well, the bad news is that you’re still gone. That sucks. There’s been a ton of stuff that you would have gotten a kick out of over the last year. I’ll make sure to send another message with attached pictures. You’ll love them.


April
Yeah, not much to report here. April really sucked. The rest of the year sucked as well, but April was definitely the worst. Nice work with the tree by the way. A week after you go and a damn storm took out Moyer’s shed. What the hell was that all about? Was that a sign that he needed to get that tree out of there or get the shed redone? Well, it’s still there, even though my dad and uncle came over late in the year to help get rid of the tree. Hopefully, we can get it figured out once the year dries up.

Your grave site is very nice. It seems morbid to talk about that but you would have loved it. We will spend a lot of time visiting and taking Bailey to feed the ducks and the fish at the pond. Also, on another morbid note, I took the opportunity to get our own plots. It’s very unsettling to think I now have a final resting place. After all, I figured I would live forever. I mean that quite literally. I’m sure I’m wrong, given all the health issues I will probably face. It’s also unsettling to think that not only does your daughter have one; your granddaughter does, as well. I hope we never have to use any of them.


May
First of all, Mother’s Day really sucked, although, Bailey managed to keep us laughing with her little bits of cuteness. She made sure we sent some balloons to Kevin’s for you.

Moyer’s birthday had a little celebration to it. We did a dual birthday for him and Ronnie. Vail made an impression on Bailey and now she includes him in her prayers.

Oh yeah, and someone took your cell phone number. I know. Pisses me off, too. Because I have those meat hook banana hands I often find myself pushing your speed dial number when I try to call someone and it gives me a moment of sadness.

Well, at least you’d be happy with Moyer for breaking out the Wii. Sucks that it took your death to get us to do that. He and I spend most evenings shooting everything in sight on the games we play. Bailey loves the one we have, House of the Dead 2 and 3. I know it’s probably not good for a three year old to be seeing that but she understands the difference between games and real life and isn’t scared by it. She calls it the ‘booby guy game.’ There is a bit where a few, very large, shirtless zombie men come after you. Yes, the kid is nuts.

June
The trip to beach was bittersweet. You would have loved the house we had and cracked up at the sounds of gunshots that echoed through the neighborhood when we fired up the Wii with Cabela’s 2010 and forgot to check the volume knobs for the surround sound, outside of the house.

You also missed the cavalcade of steaks I cooked up. I know you’ve had this thing about meat, especially beef and I hope that you’ve learned, ironically, how short life is and to not worry about stuff like that. For all the concern over lemons and beef and other things, it was the stupid blood thinner that caused you the biggest problem. Still, the steaks were awesome and I would have made you eat one because we had so damn many of them leftover.

 

You would have also gotten a kick out of crabbing. It was a bit pointless since we didn’t catch enough to eat but still, it was an interesting process. Damn things bit me. As soon as it happened, I could just faintly hear the snort and laugh that would have come out of you.

You also missed another great moment. Jeremy visited and brought along his girlfriend. She’s a keeper. I think you would have agreed. They’ll be with us this year. We took a trip up to the 4x4 section and you would have liked it. You’re probably a little pissed that you can’t go this year and see the house we’re getting. I know you are not a big fan of the pool temp when it’s not heated and it would have been a bit cold. However, we have a plan.

Lastly, you truly missed out on Captain George’s. You would have been knee deep in that flan. Looking forward to going there again, next year. Unfortunately, being in the four wheel drive section will limit us to probably one visit this time.

Oh, and you can blame me for your grave marker. I know, somewhere, your saying, “Asshole”, for my benefit. You’re welcome. Hey, they disregarded my first suggestion which was, “How am I doing?”


July
Like always, you have a way with throwing a party and you are probably upset that you can’t add your personal touch. Bailey had a wonderful birthday and even Fourth of July was fun for the most part. You would have liked the fireworks from our vantage point.


August and September
The only thing of note is seeing what has happened around here… work I mean. Yes, there is a bit of mass exodus. Doesn’t surprise me, considering. I’m still looking and getting tired of doing it. You know of my pursuit to find a better career and all I can say is, maybe you got lucky. I mean the early retirement not the permanent one… I’ve even expanded my search to start up companies. I know how you feel about that idea. Don’t think I haven’t completely thought about what that would mean. It could disintegrate in an instant. Believe me, your voice is in the back of my head harping about benefits and security and everything. Just know that for every start up that folds because they can’t hack it, there is probably another large, well established company that has just outsourced another sector of its workforce to save a buck. I may face the same reality that you did when we got bought. It’s coming. I don’t know when, but it’s a matter of time and you know as well as I do that I’d be on the chopping block. We’d both be, especially since you aren’t here to protect us.

I’m sorry about Woody. Well, at least, he’s with you, now, if you actually did make it somewhere. He was just too sick and it’s not like he was getting any younger. He was 24 years old. Unfortunately, your prediction that your mother and that cat would outlive you came true. She’s fine by the way. Anyway, it was just another stupid moment of 2010 that I wish we could have avoided. Poor little bastard. I was supposed to be there with your daughter for moral support and I was the one who came unglued. Too much death this year.


October
This is when it really sucks. It’s the beginning of the holiday season. I think you would have loved Bailey’s outfit, a little ladybug. She had her first real trick or treating adventure. The men toughed it out here, giving out treats as usual, but we had an added bonus. We used your gift from Christmas to keep us warm. I know it probably makes you go, “What the hell?”, when you realize that you gave us the fire pit 10 months ago and we finally used it, now. We did use it a couple of times over the summer but the real test was using it on Halloween. You would have been in there with a marshmallow, making your own smores. As usual, your little girl did you proud. I know that there is always that moment when she wishes she could ask you for help in cooking or putting together a party. I know we sort of suck at it, but she is her mother’s daughter. Genetics plays a huge roll and she’s taken the mantle very adeptly.

Also, I know you are probably a bit disappointed in us over dinners. Believe me, I show the biggest amount of collateral damage of your death. I’ve gained almost 30 pounds since April. When I saw the pictures of me as Thing 1 from Halloween, I realized how bad looked. I also realized how bad I felt after trying to carry Bailey up the steps after another fat filled dinner out at a restaurant or fast food joint. I’m going to start trying to lose weight. I mean seriously lose some weight.

It sucks because we never eat at your place anymore. Part of it is because it’s still too raw of a wound to poke at. The other is that we just simply don’t cook and we can’t expect Moyer to do it all. He’s still working, ya know. Yet, I think you’d be proud at how we’ve managed to cope and keep going.

November
Happy Birthday. : (

I’ll have you know that I was thoroughly impressed with your daughter’s first attempt at cooking a Thanksgiving Day turkey. Except for the fact that we all had the stomach flu, which happened prior to dinner, it was tasty. I pretty much ate leftover turkey for the next week. Well, that’s what happens when you die. You don’t get to partake in turkey sandwiches. Sucks to be you.


December
Merry Christmas : (

Yes, we threw out your love seat. Willow is breathing a sigh of relief.
That thing was a death trap for the cats and except for losing the extra seating, it opens up the room a bit more for Bailey’s toys.

I managed to convince your daughter to decorate for Christmas, even though she didn’t want to. It was for Bailey’s sake. Of course, that screws me because I have to help do the decorating. Yeah, and by the way, once again, ‘eff you for dying. That leaves a bunch of decorations for your daughter to inherit and believe me, I’m not happy about that. We have enough crap in this house, half of which we don’t use.

On a more positive note, I did get a new job, right before Christmas. Giving my two week notice right before I took the last two weeks of the year off for vacation would have gotten a ‘Good boy’ from you, I’m sure of it. Your old buddy at HQ told me that it was one of your secret wishes for us. It gave me a little sadness that you didn’t get to share in that conversation about getting the job. The fact that you secretly wished that both myself and your other daughter would get a better job, somewhere else, tells me I made the right decision. Of course, I am getting a bit of a raw deal. I have to go 45 days without benefits. Your advice would have been greatly appreciated in this matter.

On an even more positive note, I managed to lose the weight I gained after you died.  I can't promise that I'll keep losing the weight but I'm trying.


January
A new year hopefully brings a better one. What the hell is up with the cold and snow? Figures. I get a new job that takes me out towards the airport and two things happen. Hell freezes over and gas prices skyrocket. I spent the better part of two evenings stuck in traffic, trying to get home. I had to nearly miss your daughter’s birthday dinner because I had to drive all over Hell’s half acre trying to go visit my poor mother, who had a hip replacement up in Passavant UPMC. Priorities are a bitch. It just made better sense since I was already on this end of the world. Everything would have been fine but the doctors took forever to get her into her room. Thanks for being there, by the way. You know what I mean. You also know how I feel about that stuff, but I’m willing to accept that maybe I should at least be appreciative that it could be true.

February
Damn Steelers lost. Oh, by the way, your daughter stole your Polamalu jersey. I got my own, so don’t look at me. Valentine’s Day sucks, well for Moyer anyway. I know it’s not one of your bigger holidays but it’s still another excuse to be in a shitty mood because someone you love isn’t around.

You’re little fuzzy babies are soooo big, now. I know you probably miss them but I’m sure you at least have Woody and Lulu on your lap, somewhere, which makes you smile, or irate depending on how crowded it gets in that recliner you got.


March
Nothing much new, here. Yes, Bailey is coming up with some interesting things to say, all of which are not my fault.  I’m sure it will only get worse.

Your daughters need you more than ever, and by extension so do I.  I won’t give you the gory details but you understand.


April
Finally a break in the weather and the first year without you is finally over. Hopefully, this year will be a little better. There aren’t a lot of perennial events that you haven’t already missed by now, which means the worst part is over. It just really sucks because I think we’re finally starting to accept and move on, which means it will be harder to keep the memory as fresh.

Yes, we have pictures but not a lot of video so that Bailey can hear your voice and see you in motion. Of course she still remembers you and wishes you could be here. We all do. I just find myself unable to place you into a conversation as, ‘I know what she would say if she were here.’

It wasn’t that you were predictable. It was that you left that much of an impression that you were able to be utilized for any scenario. Whenever your daughter asks me for advice, I always say, ‘WWMD’. Of course, she didn’t listen you when you were alive, so I guess I’m doing it for my own benefit.

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I’ll be sure and keep you update on the rest of year. Take care and keep us safe. And help us put a filter on Bailey. She doesn’t seem to understand that you shouldn’t always speak your mind. I blame you for that. : )

Balloons For Kevin

I’m slowly beginning to be able to write this stuff down without going all completely kablooey. Eventually, I will put down something more substantial that really gives you the sense of what took place in our lives last month. I just can’t do it right now. However, because I am the unbelievable prick that I am and I know that my wife and her family can appreciate my sense of humor, even in the saddest of times, I feel I can at least share how I managed to cope with a pretty emotional event. More on that later.

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. Wow, thanks Captain Obvious. And I usually find an opportunity to at least visit if not spend the evening with my own mother. This year was a different. My wife just lost her mother the week after Easter and it’s been pretty rough. I’m not going to go into the whole back story, but my regular 4.2 readers know of what I speak. So, I took the munchkin up to see my mother on Friday night for a little Grammy Time. Then on Sunday we visited with her other Grammy, who is no longer here.

Now, I am nowhere near what you would call a churchgoer but for the sake of my daughter I talk the talk in order to kind of help with explaining what exactly has happened. She’s very smart and we would rather be upfront with what happened.

If we tell her that Grammy is sleeping but will never wake up she might be afraid to go to sleep at night. If we say Grammy had to go away and never come back, she might be afraid of us going anywhere without her. So, we were honest and told her that “Grammy had a boo boo that the doctors could not fix and she died. Her body is buried at the cemetery but the part of her that made her your Grammy is heaven now and that’s why we are sad because we can’t see her anymore.” She surprisingly gets it and understands completely what happened. But I don’t think she quite understands the feeling of loss and sadness she feels.

However, the kid is so her father’s daughter. On the way to the hospital to say goodbye to my mother-in-law we began to explain where Grammy was going. “Now, we are going to go say goodbye to Grammy. She is going to go live with Jesus now.” My daughter then looked up at my wife and asked, “Well, is Jesus friendly?” At this point I began to tear up because I knew that this was it. “Oh, yes,” my wife said, “He’s the friendliest person you’ll ever meet.” My daughter then deadpanned, “Good, because I’ll kick him in the balls.” Both my wife and I were simultaneously crying and laughing at honesty my daughter had with her intentions. She’s not even three yet. Now, this isn’t the first time she’s made that statement and for the life of me, I can’t figure out where she got it. My wife wanted to blame me but I live in a house with her and our daughter along with four cats, three of which are female and the one boy was neutered before we got him. Who the hell am saying “I’ll kick you in the balls” to?

We can always count on our daughter to provide a little perspective to the situation. And that’s why Sunday was another opportunity to smile through the pain. We had been planning for three weeks to go to the cemetery on Mother’s Day and release balloons with little notes attached. We were going to “Send them to Grammy.” Now, we prefaced Mother’s Day with ample amount of warning to my daughter that these balloons were going to be let go to fly up to heaven. She’s a balloon junkie and is very adamant about getting balloons. So, we figured there might be some resistance on finally letting the balloons go. But she did good. She even kept asking my wife if it was Mother’s Day yet because she wanted to “Send balloons to Kevin.”

At first we didn’t get it. Who the hell was Kevin? Of course, this malapropism was her thinking that heaven was Kevin but where she learned the name Kevin, I don’t know. But we kind of went with it and said “We’re going to go send balloons to Kevin, now.” So, as we stood there and released the balloons I found it hard not to find some humor in this moment. I thought about putting an email address on the cards attached to the balloons. Since they were made of Mylar they would probably last a lot longer than traditional latex ones, even at a higher altitude. I suspect they won’t make it very far and will end up no more than a twenty or thirty miles away before they hit something and end up tangled in a tree. But it would have been nice if the person who found these notes attached to balloons were to send a message. So, in that vein my sister-in-law said. “Who is going to write you, Jesus? Do you think he has the email address, Jesus@aol.com?” I said, “Of course, but the bastard will probably try to sell me Viagara.” “Yeah, I got spammed by Jesus. Oh, and now he wants to be friend on Facebook. Hey, everybody. I just poked Jesus. That and he keeps asking me to join his mafia.” Like I said, I can be a prick, but at least the humor can be appreciated. Now, if you excuse me, there is a lightning bolt coming towards me from the direction of Kevin’s. Avenge me, daughter. Go kick Kevin in the balls.