Letting Her Go...

Three weeks to the day of the last posting in my blog, and I sit here, early on a Friday morning. Dealing with the lack of sleep my mind would let me take in, and the knowledge that today is the day. The day of letting go.

I had the inevitable "facing reality" meeting yesterday. One that even after my last blog post, I knew was a long time coming. I unfairly let it it continue for 3 more weeks. Unfair in the sense that some how, through sheer willpower and constant worry, extra amounts of love, I could get her through all this. But today is the day I say good bye. Today is the day I let my precious one find freedom in her "litter box in the sky." And I feel broken.

The last few days, Sienna has quit eating. In her typical extra exuberant fashion, which she slightly had even with all her energy compromised, and her kidney disease hitting her more each day, she would bound down the stairs when she heard me open a can of food. She knew it meant yummy time. But the last two days have left her staring blankly at her full bowl, licking a few licks and then walking away. As such, I finally realized it was time to face the reality I knew was coming and took her to the vet.

The progression of her kidney disease, the amount of pills I had to give her, the number of cc's of sub-q fluids she was given every other day. It has all felt like just numbers stacking up. Three years and 2 months since she was diagnosed. Two times here in California where before now I thought I would need to make this awful decision. Two times where she hung near death only to rally back. One Hundred and Fifty cc's of fluid I forced into her, to keep her hydrated, up until the very end, hoping one shot every other day would make her eat. But the worst number that will probably haunt me, I heard yesterday.

Seven. Seven pounds. That is her total weight currently. For a cat that was 16 lbs when diagnosed with kidney failure over 3 years ago, 7 was the magic number that clicked. She's lost 2 lbs in 2 months. While I would wish loosing weight like that, for a frail cat sick, not eating and loosing that amount of weight means one thing. It means that the number 7 is not lucky for me, but the number I knew meant the inevitable end to our journey together. The number that meant as it hit my head to process last night that "Jess, she's not getting any better. Jess, as an act of love, as an act of true love to her, you have to let her go."

So this morning, 10 years, 3 months and 25 days 'til the first time this crazy, personality driven monster jumped into my lap and my heart, I prepare. As I have said to countless other friends in the past, our animals touch our lives in ways we don't expect, or don't comprehend until we are forced to live without them. Sienna's reach hit me as I sat in the vet office last night. Our vet, one I trusted because she studied at CSU (which for me meant home if she knew Colorado), flinched at my tears. I think trying to hold back her own emotions as she knew I'd done so much for my little one. The office staff, the people over the last year I've bugged for appointments for Sienna, more sub-q liquids, more food, appologized as they talked over the procedure and money (cause they get ya with that even as you have to make that awful decision). They somehow felt a little of my pain too I gather. One even commented "this girl is famously known in this place." I laughed..knowing that Sienna has somehow become "famous" in California and Colorado just by being herself.

And selfishly I feel silly. Feel silly I sit and weep over just a tiny little four legged creature. Feel silly that I feel encompassed in a sense of grief and loss. I think maybe it hits so strongly since this is my first really true taste of loosing someone super close to me, loosing my best friend (of the furry kind). But I feel even sillier that I also realize a sense of closure, of relief is hitting as well. She won't suffer. And I won't constantly worry what more I could do to help.

So as I feel a chapter ending, I take comfort in all that this tiny little wonder has given to me. As a kid of 23, she forced me to think of someone other than myself. She gave me someone to shower attention and love over. She became the subject of countless pictures I have scattered in photo albums, and picture folders both here and back home in CO. She was the little one I danced around when Doug and I watched tv shows in an attempt to make him laugh. And she was the sun girl, who spent so many countless hours laying in front of the patio door back home in Windsor, or on the window ledge even yesterday taking in a little of mother nature's blankets of warmth. She made me realize committing to someone else is possible, and taught me the responsibility that comes with having an animal. That it isn't about getting someone cute and not taking care of her, but it is in shower them with love and everything you can give to them. For in my world, my animals, and my girl were my kids.

So one last time, Sienna and I will cuddle today. And I will pray for a touch of sun so she can take it in one last time. And then I will start the car, drive the 7 minutes to the vet, and will say goodbye one last time and know she will be in a better place.

NOTE: It's now after 2pm and my sweet love is gone. She went peacefully, wrapped in my arms. Gut wrenchingly hard, but the right decision. My heart aches to have her here to curl in my lap, purr at my hands. But I know she's in a safer place. A place where there is no more pain, no more kidney problems or pills or visits to a doctor. I guess I can take comfort in knowing I must have really really really loved her if it hurts this much to let her go.

So hard to say goodbye....

There is a blog that has been rolling through my mind for a few months now. It is one that I was afraid to write for fear that committing it to computer, paper, being able to see the words typed out, would give me bad luck. Would somehow jinx me. But I realize now that it needs to come out, so here it goes.

I've never been one to handle change easily. Anytime a new school year hit as a kid, I would wake up the morning of the new school year with the biggest round of butterflies in my stomach. The same could be true of almost every other life changing thing that has occurred to me thus far.

But one of the biggest changes I have had to deal with probably the least amount has been death. Life's final chapter. I have been fortunate (if you can call it that) in that my 34 years on this earth have seen me loose only a small amount of people and animals in my life. With the exception of a few, most of the losses were people I might have met once as a kid, or was a niece twice removed from. And as far as animals were concerned, it was always the goldfish that got flushed down the drain, or my cute little parakeets who one day decided to leave.

But as I write this, I am struggling to make a really hard decision, when is the "time to say good-bye" to my cat?

Yes, all, a cat. The first little furball that ever graced my life, the one that made me decide after years of being a dog person that I could handle having a cat. The one who I affectionately called a "punk ass" and various other names, has lately fallen upon ill health.

I remember a different time, 1998. The first time I allowed myself to think about getting a little animal to care for. I had just FINALLY left a job that saw me traveling a ton, as a newly employed kid, I decided that if I was going to be home every night, why not get an animal to welcome me at the door? So after work one day, I wandered off to the Dumb Friends League (yes, an odd name for those outside of Colorado who don't know it), an animal human society of sorts that at the time, was 5 minutes from my apartment. I went in with an open mind. While I was never a cat person, as a kid of 24, I knew a cat fit my lifestyle more. They were more independent, you didn't have to take them out for walks every day, and as long as they had clean litter and food, you were golden. I drove up not knowing what I'd find.

After surveying the cat area, and looking through glass windows more than once, I settled on this little black, gold and brown cat to see and "spend time with" in one of their visit rooms. A cat named Sheeba, who the tag said was roughly 5 months old. The minute Sheeba came in the room, the charm turned up to monumentous proportions. She jumped from the volunteer's hands, onto my waiting lap, and nuzzled in the crux of my elbow and hip, purring away like she was content. What a sell job she did! I left after placing a hold on her for 24 hours to think about it, then immediately went to Petsmart and spent 200 dollars on cat toys, food, a bed, and anything else I could find. That is the moment I knew I was hooked.

I came back the next day, ready to scoop up my new addition. I remember sitting in the waiting area, watching a little kid of around 10, screaming at the top of his lungs about how he was taking Sheeba home, how he was excited for his new cat, all those sing songy ways that a kid who is excited about something they want will display. Is it wrong that inside I had the cheesiest grin, and the "HAHA..you aren't getting her. She's MINE!" type attitude. Honestly, if "junior" had come up and started singing to me, I might have told him off. But I laughed inside knowing I was the one taking her home!

Cut to short of 11 years later. And who knew how much my life would change because of, and with this cat. Sheeba, now known as Sienna (for her burnt sienna colored Tortie coat) is now a staple in my world. She's the little one who was always waiting at the door to greet me, the little one who would "massage my belly" after I arrived home from a hard day (almost like therapy, I used to call it Kitty Shiatsu), the one who still to this day seems most comfortable resting in the crook of an arm or a leg of mine. She taught me responsibility, to commit to something, to put effort into something other than myself. She's made me laugh an infinite number of times. Doug's had to remind me she is "just a cat" because there have been so many times when I treated her like a dog, or a little person with fur, because her personality overshadowed her "typical cat behavior.

Three years ago, in 2006, I found out Sienna had Kidney Renal Failure. Much like us adults, cats can also get struck down with their kidneys failing. According to our vet back in Colorado, Sienna's was caused by an infection in her mouth that just sped up her getting struck with Kidney Failure. I remember when they first told me, a cold February day, knowing that my little furball would not be the same. Her chubby 16 lb frame at the time would get smaller. She'd need water more. She'd need special diets. Her kidneys at that point had 70% damage that was irreversible. She was only going to get worse. But, at the time that seemed long in the future. The vet assured me that many cats live LONG fit lives after their diagnosis if their owners do what they can to help their ailing kitties (like feeding them the special diet, giving the medicine, etc).

So, I poured myself into learning about what was occurring with Sienna. I found great resources over the internet. I appreciated so much the kind and wise words of our vet back in Colorado who took interest in Sienna's case. I began feeding her the stuff she needed. I vowed my cat would be around so much longer, and die of old age, right?!

Three years. I sit here writing this knowing that above and beyond all my efforts, all my prayers all my hopes, the inevitable is creeping up quicker than I want. My little "high maintenance kitty" is succumbing to her disease. The last time they took her stats here in California (at yet another great vet we found), her kidney levels were up. Since moving here, she's been struck with much more (thyroid issues, anemia). She's had episodes where she was near death (right after we moved I had to leave her overnight to get emergency fluids pushed. Apparently the vets think the move and new surroundings jostled her fragile body enough to speed up more of the kidney failure). She made it through that weekend, but I think even back then (last February) I knew the end would come eventually.

Cut to today. My little monster gets more "little" each day. I fight with her to get her to take the pills she needs. I have to give her sub-q's (this means sticking her every other day with a needle to push fluids in to help her not dehydrate). I play a game every morning and say a prayer each day as I drive away that she will eat. Gain what she so needs to bulk up here small little frame.

But I no longer get greeted at the door anymore. Only every now and again do I get a kitty shiatsu. And many nights have her curled up under a blanket hiding from me...or curled up next to me on the couch trying to stay warm.

And it's because of this, this failing, that I know the inevitable is almost here for my cat who was always "much more" than a cat. That day where I will have to go to the vet one last time. And while I know it is right, it is fair to her, why is it so hard to say goodbye?

When did it all change?

Ok, granted, most of my 2009 blogs have been reflective and whiny. Lately I have found myself looking back more. Maybe it is because I am that much closer to 35, maybe it is because I am feeling more out of sync, more out of center, I am not sure what it is. But again, last night, I again found myself thinking back and wondering, when did it all change?

Last night, Doug and I attended the opening night of the Watchmen. For those who don't know (and honestly, I probably wouldn't if it wasn't for Doug), the Watchmen is a movie that JUST came out based on the most critically acclaimed Graphic Novel ever written. It is a highly prized piece of literature that was voted one of the top 100 books of all times, and is extremely loved by many fans. But a book that no one was sure would translate to a decent movie. Fans, including my beloved hubby were afraid they would soften up the book's inherent grittiness, dark nature for something more fluffy and commercial appeal friendly.

The good news, they did not, and even a kid who hasn't read the book (moi) left the movie theater satisfied. Satisfied that by far, that was a movie unlike any I had ever seen before. And, it actually made me WANT to read the graphic novel. Normally rare if I see a movie based on a book do I actually want to see, read, digest what it was based on.

However, the movie experience was not without its annoyances. And it really wasn't the movie..and this had me looking back.

When I was a kid, one of the things I took great joy in was catching a flick with  my friends. I can remember times when we would hit the candy store at the Tivoli (before the Tivoli turned into a "hip" hang out for the kids at Metro) to snag some pixie sticks and other various sugar delights before seeing some movie whose name I forget. And I remember times sneaking into the big Cooper movie theater down on Colorado blvd, with pops (sodas for you people in other states :D) and sandwiches or something to eat right under our shirts feeling like outlaws not paying for movie popcorn and soft drinks (which by the way are another sore spot of what costs have skyrocketed since I was a kid but I digress).

Last night I just wanted to enjoy a flick with my fan husband. I wanted to see what had him so passionate about his love of the graphic novel, of the story that he has relayed to me regarding the Watchmen and why some said this was such a hard story to translate to film.

But two sets of groups stood in the way of my 100% joy and satisfaction of seeing this film. Lets refer to them as rude kids group A and annoying Fanatic nerds b.

The Rude Kids were sitting directly behind Doug. During the time before the movie began (when they shower us as a captive audience with lame commercials and looks of other tv shows and movies we might be interested in), the rude kids (which is a misnomer since they were probably at LEAST in their late teens) routinely were screaming a convo to each other. Not as if they were sitting right next to each other, but as if I storm was going on around them and the only way they could communicate was if they screamed over the wind. Insane. Doug and I had our attention tested with these yahoos. At various points throughout the night they would kick or knee Doug's chair (which I always find a insanely rude gesture. Don't give me the "I am too tall, sorry" phrase peeps, OK. I am a taller individual as well, but my mom raised me right as a young kid that if there is a chair in front of you, even if you are all legs you DON'T kick it! Grr. I at one point (something I find myself, my passive aggressive little self doing more and more) actually shhhhhh'd them. I don't care if I am just watching a cartoon on the big screen, if you are going to see a movie SHUT your piehole when the trailers come on! PLEASE.

But they weren't the worst. The worst, were the nerdboy and his entourage of fan  obsessed "trying to hard to be cool, but just looking like obsessive fans" that were sitting directly behind me. Again, during the trailers we could hear word for word their extremely loud and shouting match display of a conversation. What is SO important, that you wait until the lights are dim around you, when you are surrounded with roughly 100-150 people to need at that moment to shout about how the last few episodes of Monk will air soon? SO freaking what?!

Then, as if almost on queue to annoy all around him, the nerddude (ah, I might have created a new word), begins toe tapping. Every song that came on during the trailers, every song that ushered in a new scene in the movie...nervous tapping from left to right, to left to right of his fake doc marten shoes, which of course are not QUIET since they are heavy shoes. MY GOD, annoy much?!?! It was all I could do to control telling him to shut the F off in anger. The rest of us want to HEAR the movie too numbnuts. Grr. If I wasn't afraid of the scene it would have caused, and if I wasn't concerned about interrupting a movie that I not only cared about but knew my hubby did too, this dude would've been told off in the strictest of ways.

Which brings me back to the Watchmen oddly enough. The movie and novel, very much display on what happens when the human condition is challenged, fought for, and questions if people are worth saving. Honestly I think I found some genes in the gene pool last night that weren't (and  I try not to wish evil or bad on ANYONE, that's how fed up I was). The bothersome fellow movie patrons, unfortunately were not the first OR last we've encountered recently, which left me wondering; when did the world change? When did our nice, manner-ific lifestyles change? When did people become more rude, less concerned about what they do affecting others? When did we as a society quit caring? And is the only time I ever going to have an experience of my youth at a movie theater where I can watch the whole movie in peace only be in my dreams?!?!

Hearing a Pin Drop...

So there is an old saying that goes "it was quiet enough you could hear a pin drop." I've always thought it was one of those sayings old people from a different generation than my GenX mind would say, but I think I get it. Tonight, for the first time in the 13 months I've been in California, I think I heard a pin drop. Eery silence. I had to go out to throw the trash (an art that has lost it's excitement for me. Oh, do I miss the days of throwing it in the garage back home..anyway..) and as I was walking down the stairs from our condo (we live on the second floor) I noticed it. Nothing. No rushing of the little pond right by the end of the stairs. No obnoxiously loud tvs coming from any of our neighbors. No downstairs neighbors outside smoking, clinking of their Bud Lights hitting their deck table. Not even the California sounds I have grown used to (a siren off in the distance or a helicopter making its rounds spotlight trying to shake out a criminal). Nothing. 

It brought my head back to so many nights in my front porch, outside my car on Canal back home in Windsor. I miss the eery quiet of a winter/early spring night. Tonight, I savored it as I walked back up the stairs, because that brief 5 minute trash jaunt made me feel home.

COINCIDENTLY, as I finished typing this thought, a helicopter flew overhead. Silence is golden and short-lived I guess.

Birthday Reflections...

Yesterday was my birthday. Another year down in the volume that is my life. For some reason the whole day felt surreal. A rush of emotions about missing home, reflecting on the year past, enjoying the present with my friends out here, and just having it also be another day of work and routine. But these past few days leading up to, and on the day after, have me thinking about things in my life that have changed over my 34 years. 

One of the big ones, was the announcement yesterday of the Rocky Mountain News shuttering down and closing production. The announcement happened on my birthday :( The day I was born 34 years later will now go down for many reporters, photojournalists, columnists, and editors as the day they were told they were unemployed. Oddly, this news saddened me more than I initially thought it would. I found out, uniquely enough by status  updates from my Denver friends on Facebook. Postings about the last edition and how they would miss started popping up towards the end of yesterday and upon clicking on the Rocky website I found out it was true. The news made me reflect even more about my life and the years that had past leading up to this year's birthday. Growing up as a kid, that was MY Newspaper. My parents always subscribed to it, and I could remember reading it with my dad on the weekends, him persuading me to read some of the columnists he read. I remember seeing the funny political cartoons that ran and while I didn't always  understand why I was laughing, I laughed along with them. I remember in high school grabbing that paper the morning after a basketball game, checking the scores and postings, wanting to see my name in print. It shaped my thoughts and desires to become a journalist, and ultimately was one of the reasons I did decide to major in journalism at CU and then later at CSU when I went back to Fort Collins. I wanted to be a roving beat reporter, little notebook in hand, AP Guide at the ready, reporting for and about my city. While I never followed it, landing a job at that newspaper was always a little dream of mine.

Knowing it will not be there to open, to glance thru, to see the bright picture greet me at the newstand, as I plink in coins to buy one before breakfast on a visit back to Colorado, saddens me. The Rocky was a paper that helped remind me so much of what made my state great, and made me proud to be a Coloradan. But as a victim like so many other things in my list of past birthdays, past years growing up, it will fade into just a memory, just a longing in my heart to capture my youth, and what used to be.

As I sit and write this, another year older, maybe another year wiser (Maybe not?) and another year more sentimental, I can't help but think of all the things of my youth that no longer exist but in a trapped memory. Weekends as a kid going to Celebrity Sports Center with friends. Trips to the old Cooper theaters right next door to see movies on the HUGE screen. Birthdays that were marked with sleepovers filled with scary movies, ghost stories, Light as a Feather Stiff as a Board freak outs, and truth or dare. And later, in college, parties that involved the number of shots you could take, or the friends you had to go clubbing with to celebrate properly. All seem so far removed. Maybe that is what made yesterday so much more surreal. Maybe it was the distance being away from home that made those memories, those thoughts further from my reach than normal. Or maybe, it is just that I have hit an age where life gets more reflective, more thought provoking. Either way, I sit missing the triumphs of my youth, the beauty of my past and wonder what this next year will bring to have me reflecting on, in the year to come.