I'm going to try to make this post the last sad one for awhile, because it is the season of joy and happiness, and overall I really am very happy. Just a few things beyond my control have left me staggering behind my normal pace.
It's funny the things that bother you when someone dies. It's never something normal, like that person being absent and leaving a huge vacuum in your life. Its little things like when I look at the little 3X5 pictures that don't even exist anymore (you can't even find a 3X5 frame anymore...I looked) and I see pictures of my smiling mom with a black and white cat, and a separate picture of my dad at 25 years old smiling with the same black and white cat, but no one can tell me what the cat's name was. I asked around, and no one seems to know. I think it may have been Bradley, but I really have no idea.
I once read that to lose your parents is to lose your past, to lose your child is to lose your future, and to lose your spouse is to lose your present. The past thing rings true to me right now. It makes me sad that no one can recount memories of walking the floor with me as a baby, screaming and colicky. And no one remembers that day I was sitting on my dad's shoulders in my favorite Berenstain Bears pajamas at age 4. No one except me.
1 comment:
Kara, the black and white cat was Bratty. He was a huge cat. Big like my cat Jack was. He somehow got out and was lost when you all lived in Nebraska City. I definitely remember you having colic because I also walked the floors with you. You were on liquid Bentyl at the same time I was on the capsule form [I am back on it now in pill form all these years later!]. Your mom had a black and white cat when we were kids and our Dad was still alive. We went to Aunt Gloria Friesell's farm in Weeping Water and got him. My Dad named him Humbert.
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