No Regrets

This past Tuesday, July 14th, marked the 9 year anniversary of my dad's death. I always tell people who have lost a parent, “When both your parents are alive, you think you can imagine how it will feel. When you actually lose one, you feel like you’re part of a secret club and you realize you couldn’t possibly imagine how it would feel.”

I hurt more now than I did when he died. It’s like when you first fall in love with someone and want to spend all your time with that person. When they go away for a day, you miss them. If they were to go away for a week, you’d miss them so much more. If they were gone a month, you’d REALLY miss them. With respect to the death of a parent, you miss them more as time goes on because their presence is missed more and more with each passing day, month and year. Plus, there are more “missed” memories . . . missed holidays, milestones, events you wanted to share, questions you wish you’d asked, etc.

I actually spent the last couple of days writing a "tribute" of sorts about my dad, but now that I'm done with it, I realize it's far to personal to post. So let me give you a piece of advice instead:

If one or both of your parents are alive, cherish your time with them, leave no question unasked, no story unheard, no advice unheeded. Try your hardest not to have any regrets when they're gone.

It's a Boy

I told you awhile back that I lost my beloved Persian, Sonja, who was less than 5 years old. For any number of reasons, that loss has been particularly hard on me. She was such a character, so full of personality. She was always near us, with the personality more of a friendly lab or golden retriever than a cat. She was so young. I have her littermate with similar genetic problems and I'm fearful of complications with her in the future. I feel like the color has gone out of my life, leaving me with black, white and shades of gray.

Sonja's sister, Anna, has seemed to thrive as an only cat, coming out of her shell and being more "needy" and less reclusive. Then the thought occurred to me: maybe she's not happy being an only cat; maybe she's lonely! I think she's always wanted to "mother" something.

So I went looking to fill the void -- hers and mine. This is a picture of Sveeka who will be joining our family on June 20th.

I'm scared (I can't open myself up to another love if I'm going to have to say goodbye in the near future), sad and lonely (because I still miss Sonja so terribly). But I'm hoping a bundle of fur will soothe the jagged edges of my emotions when he gets here.

Empty Hands

I just wanted to share with you a quote from a book I'll be reviewing in a few weeks:

" . . . I know you are carrying this loss as if it is yours alone to bear. But you were not meant to carry such a heavy burden. Give it back to God and keep giving it back until you have no more grief in your heart to hand over to Him. Then wait and see what gift He places in your empty hands." Sisterchicks in Wooden Shoes! by Robin Jones Gunn

When I lost my beloved Persian, Sonja, a few weeks ago, I had such a moment. I was lamenting the loss of my cat which carried into the loss of all kinds of species from the Earth such as the polar bear (Unfortunately, I had a sad image in my mind from a movie). I was asking God to take away my feelings of pain and loss and remove the polar bear image from my mind. I felt God say to me, "How do you think I feel? They're MY creations! I love the polar bears and I love Sonja more than you can even imagine."

God cares. So what are you carrying in your hands that prevents you from accepting His gifts?!