Of All I've Lost
Went to see the new Indiana Jones movie today. Liked it all right, though if this was the version of the script with the weird crap dialed back a bit . . . uhm . . . Yeah. I'll refrain from further spoilers, except for one very minor scene from the movie that has nothing to do with the plot. Basically, Indy is reminiscing with a friend the events of the last few years, about how difficult they have been, looking at pictures of loved ones who have passed on. The friend says something that struck me hard right that moment: We've reached the age when life stops giving us things, and starts taking them away.
I don't think I'm quite to that age yet, but I am starting to feel my mortality a bit more each day, as well as that of those around me.
A year ago today, I lost someone very precious to me. A day doesn't go by that I don't think about her. I know she's in a better place now, peaceful, comfortable, and being well-cared for, and that, one day, I'll see her again, when it's my turn to go. I hope she'll forgive my selfishness, though, in wishing she was still here to lay on my chest when I lay down, curl up next to me when I'm watching a football game, or chase after milk rings and little feathery cat toys. I can only think of two people right now whose passing will impact me as hard as hers has. (Thankfully, they are still alive, and, hopefully, that won't change any time soon.) I still cry sometimes; I just miss her so much.
Pay no attention to the ugly human in one of his horrid attempts to grow a beard. And forgive the hideous flannel shirt; it was a cold, lazy Wisconsin day. Pay only attention to the pretty kitty. Though, even with that in mind, the guy in the picture looks a bit happier than the one I see in the mirror now. The world just seems a harder place for me without Memphis in it.
I miss you, Memphis-kitty.
I don't think I'm quite to that age yet, but I am starting to feel my mortality a bit more each day, as well as that of those around me.
A year ago today, I lost someone very precious to me. A day doesn't go by that I don't think about her. I know she's in a better place now, peaceful, comfortable, and being well-cared for, and that, one day, I'll see her again, when it's my turn to go. I hope she'll forgive my selfishness, though, in wishing she was still here to lay on my chest when I lay down, curl up next to me when I'm watching a football game, or chase after milk rings and little feathery cat toys. I can only think of two people right now whose passing will impact me as hard as hers has. (Thankfully, they are still alive, and, hopefully, that won't change any time soon.) I still cry sometimes; I just miss her so much.
Pay no attention to the ugly human in one of his horrid attempts to grow a beard. And forgive the hideous flannel shirt; it was a cold, lazy Wisconsin day. Pay only attention to the pretty kitty. Though, even with that in mind, the guy in the picture looks a bit happier than the one I see in the mirror now. The world just seems a harder place for me without Memphis in it.
I miss you, Memphis-kitty.