Standing Still

After 43 years, this summer was turning out to be one of the best summers in my life. I got to spend a lot of time with two of my sisters. Our son came out for a visit and decided to spend the rest of the summer here working with us. We went to a local music festival supporting Fire On The Mountain, a nonprofit created to support the local community after the wildfire 2 years ago, and I got to meet one of my favorite artists. Work was moving quickly and going well. The RMCCC kids that joined us at the campground were great to have around. Kind, thoughtful, generous, and way better company than I was anticipating when we found out we wouldn't be alone here.

Then, just days before summer turned into autumn, everything changed horribly.

Back in January, I started a 30-Day yoga series by Yoga with Adriene. I've been doing Yoga with Adriene since she had about 10 videos up on youtube. I think I must have been one of her first subscribers. She changed my life way back then, and continues to be a source of support and inspiration in my life now, even though she has no idea how important she is to it.

Back to January, where I began keeping track of my 30 days on the calendar. After the 30 day series was done, I wasn't.

In January not only did I start doing a 30 Days of Yoga series, but I also started keeping track of my movement. Tracking my movement has been a great way to keep myself accountable, keep swimming or jogging or walking or doing yoga every day. Even just the physical work I do can be enough when you're at 8600 ft!

I thought writing it down and keeping track would absolutely keep me accountable, and it did. I made it to day 234 of consecutive days of movement before I faltered.

Actually, let’s call it what it really was.

It wasn't a falter.

It was a balls to the wall, head-first, high speed crash, full-stop.

On September 17th, 2023, my day 234, we gave our sweet little fur baby, Castiel, flea medicine. We discovered that she must have been allergic to it, because she was no longer with us by 3:27 a.m. on the morning of September 19th.

I woke up to hear her calling for me, and I raced to the front of the bus, calling to her the whole way letting her know I was coming, so she knew I was on my way to her side. I managed to get to her and scoop her up and hold her as she took her last breaths. She looked into my eyes as her little spirit left her body, and my life as I knew it ended. I was broken and inconsolable. I screamed and sobbed and begged anyone to save her, to please not take her away from me.

I took one week to try and let my heart heal a little. I discovered on September 25th that day 235 was also day 8 of the latest 30 day series I was doing.

Day 8, don't hate, meditate.

I thought it was exactly what I needed that day, until I found Castiel hairs on my yoga mat and started crying immediately. I made it through the meditation, because what good is yoga if you can't get an emotional release from it occasionally.

September 25th was the last day I wrote anything on my calendar.

September 25th was the last day I did yoga.

I know I need to start again.

My body craves the movement, and the ease of muscles.

My mind rejoices in the stillness and the peace.

But, my grief has not gone away and I can still hear her little meow in the bay below me; like I forgot to open the hatch when I let her outside and now she wants to come back in and interrupt my yoga for snuggles and rubs.

Sometimes I catch glimpses of her jumping up through the hatch from the first bay, or sitting on the rug where I lay my yoga mat, or laying in my basket of work clothes, making them all have a nice layer of soft silky hairs. When I turn to look fully, of course she's not there.

I'm alone in the mornings, and I used to love the peace and quiet it brought me before everyone else woke up. My time to think and journal, my time with Castiel to play and snuggle.

Now, my long cherished alone time in the early hours of the morning are more like torture. I'm truly alone, and so incredibly lonely for my little sweet pea. I spend more time crying in the morning than anything else.

It's been 16 days since she left me and it hasn't gotten easier. In fact, while my heart isn't bleeding openly on the floor anymore, it is still bleeding out inside of me.

I don't walk the beach anymore.

I used to walk the beach every day. I could spend hours down there, walking in the water, sitting in the sun, smelling the wild roses and lupine.

It hurts too much to walk by myself when before, she was always with me. Meowing at me to slow down and let her catch up, or to speed up and quit being so pokey, or to let me know there was a dangerous crow around, or to follow her down one of the many tiny trails she found around the campground. She would sit on the beach with me for hours, curled up along the edge of the grass or chasing grasshoppers.

She even went out on my paddleboard with me twice because she couldn't stand to have me paddle away without her. She would stand on the shore and cry for me, and then follow me along the shoreline trying to call me back in to her side, until I would go back in and tuck her into my life jacket.

I was going to buy her a life jacket of her own, so she could stand on the paddleboard instead. I never did. I don't know why I put it off. I wish I hadn't.

I haven't used my paddleboard since she left me.

I don't even want to.

I miss her so much.

I don't think anyone realizes how broken I am. How much I wish I could just go to sleep and wake up wherever she is.

I don't think anyone realizes how little I care about what they care about. All the trivial bullshit. All the reality TV and pop culture, all the dramas you HAVE to watch or the clothes you HAVE to wear or the bag you just HAVE to have, in order to be just like everyone else.

Castiel wasn't like any other cat. She was like me. She didn't give a fuck what any other cats did, she did what she wanted, what she needed to do. She did whatever it was that made her little kitty heart purr.

She ran up trees, she danced with butterflies, she chased grasshoppers, she meowed her little meows in my face at 4am if I wasn't awake yet and she thought I should be. The littlest meows, and sometimes a nose nudge. Her morning meows weren't just meows, they quite literally sounded like she was saying "mom".

She would wait in the hallway for me to get dressed. She knew I would go to the bathroom before I watched her eat, so she'd slowly make her way there and wait in the middle of the living room floor so I could start rubbing her the minute she started eating. She loved having her neck scratched and her back rubbed while she ate.

My mornings are quiet now. And still. And dark. And lonely.

Thank God for my friends and family.

Thank God for those who answered my call.

My sister, Jenni, who I called at 4 a.m.

My girlfriends, who I messaged later that morning when I could barely process how to type on my phone.

My dad and mom, whose hearts broke with mine, who cried with me and told me she was a special kitty and I was blessed for having loved her.

My sister, Toni, who sent me love and healing energy, without hesitation and exactly when I needed it; and the reminder that I am not all alone.

If you've read this far, you might think I'm forgetting about Andy.

I haven't mentioned him much in regards to Castiel, and that's because it's his story It's just as personal and just as painful, and it isn't anywhere near my place to share it.

Maybe he will one day.

Maybe not.

Maybe it's just for him, and only for him.

And we'll let it stay that way.