A Light Through the Darkness

I went to a really nice memorial service for my friend Cheryl today. We'd lost touch after high school - she'd moved to Texas, I found out, got married, had three kids and got divorced, then moved back here and discovered she had breast cancer. She'd been a year behind me in school, but I'd forgotten that it wasn't because she was younger than me - on the contrary, she was a month older than I was, but she'd been held back one year.

The memorial service was full of music and old friends - I found out that Cheryl's cousin, my friend Chris whom I hadn't seen since, oh, graduation - had three kids of his own. Three kids. Wow. My best friend from high school now has 4 kids of her own! Of course, I was the kid going "Nah, not going to get married and have kids." Chris was shocked to hear I'd actually gotten hitched too. We had a good talk - I got to meet his wife, who wanted to learn all the annoying nicknames we called him during high school. He might take up fencing with us - I think I've got him half-talked into it.

During the service, the pastor talked about Cheryl's faith, and how she always had it, even though she didn't get baptized into the church until three weeks before she passed away. That got me thinking. I have been very, very lax lately about my faith. Honestly, I pay lip service to being a pagan, but I haven't celebrated a ritual or even lit my altar candles in a long, long time. And not because I don't believe anymore, but because I haven't made the time.

I need to rediscover my faith. Rededicate myself to me, not just to the world around me. Figure what I want from life (and no, I'm not talking about going off the deep end, divorcing argus7hills, shaving my head and running off to Mexico) and go after it.

To that end, all my LJ friends who are in the NH area are welcome to come join me for a Beltane celebration (because we might be able to see my backyard by then). I want to set up a labyrinth and walk it in the backyard. RSVP at some point in the next few months and let me know if you're interested.

I'll be doing more introspective work too, posted under the "pagan" tag (for those who just look at the tags up top), but I'm not sure what yet.

Right now, I have to get back into the saddle on this book. More later.

Madeleine L'Engle has passed away at age 88.

I loved "A Wrinkle in Time," and devoured the entire series. This is a very sad day.

I don't know how to write this.

I spent all weekend in the hospice wing of Manchester Memorial Hospital, sitting with my grandmother as she took her final journey into twilight. She went into the ICU on Friday, and on Saturday we learned that she had terminal cancer of the liver and the breast that had spread throughout her body. There was nothing the doctors could do, except keep her comfortable as she died.

We didn't get there until around 5 pm on Saturday - by then, she'd already lapsed into unconciousness. She never really came around again to speak to us, but she was awake and recognized my aunt's voice late Sunday night.

My grandma was a rabid Yankees fan - as you all know, I'm a rabid Red Sox fan, but we had fun watching games together, especially when our teams went head to head. We watched our last game together Sunday night, and for the first time in my life, I prayed the Yankees would win.

They did. I gave her the play-by-play, especially when her favorite, Derek Jeter, came to the plate. When A-Rod hit that home run in the 9th that put the Yankees ahead, her eyes opened, and she smiled. When we told her they'd won, she sighed.

My grandmother was one hell of a woman, and she was my idol. "Red" loved flowers, birds and doing crazy things with her grandchildren - she had 9 of them, and adored it when she got to see them. This past year, she got to see her first great-grandchild, my niece Lily. When she went, she was surrounded with family.

There's more I want to write, but I don't have the words right now.

I miss you, Gram, and I love you.

Tonight, I went and held my friend Donna’s hand while her 21-year-old cat L.S. was put to sleep. It was rough – her ex-husband was still in Alabama, trying to get a flight home, and she was upset that he wasn’t there to say goodbye.

L.S. was a grey and white tomcat, a “hellraiser,” according to Donna. His name in actuality was “Little Shit,” named when he was a kitten, and he’d had quite the colorful life.

Donna told me how he’d run around on his hind legs, paws waving in the air, playing tag with one of her old roommates. How he’d gotten revenge on another roommate who’d locked him in her room, by peeing and pooping all over her bed. Yes, ALL over: apparently he christened each and every pillow, her bedspread, flat sheet AND fitted sheet. How he’d waited until another friend who had bugged him fell asleep, and then clawed the snot out of him.

He went out the same way. It took enough anesthesia for an 80-lb cat to stop his heart, and even then, it took 30 minutes, not a few seconds. He was in kidney failure, and his veins were collapsed, forcing the vet to inject directly into his lungs. Even at the end, he got his shot in: he stuck his tongue out at the vet, and purred until the end.

He was a good cat. Bow your heads for a moment, and if you go out tonight, have a drink for L.S.