You’ve been gone almost three weeks now and I am an emotional mess. I know you didn’t want to die. You tried so hard to come back, but the doctors couldn’t fix what was wrong. At least, those couldn’t. How I wish you’d listened and sought a second opinion about having the aneurysm clipped, but you didn’t. Now, there’s nothing anyone can do.
This is the one time I think you can truly understand my pain. It’s the same pain you and your brothers have experienced. The difference is that we lived together in the same house for most of my life. Everything here reminds me that you’re not here and never will be again. The urn containing the remains of your shell is beautiful. I think you’d be pleased. Why wouldn’t you? You can see everything and both the boldness and subtleties of your exquisite taste are evident. Teddy helped me choose it.
You’ve probably guessed that I’m writing for more than just mere small talk. I don’t know how to do this and I sure as hell don’t know how to tell you, but I am going to get dressed and drive to the APL to have Poppy euthanized. She’s 20 years old, can’t take care of herself and isn’t using her cat box anymore. Cats are so much more expensive than dogs. I’m finding it easier and less expensive to care for the canine crew than for one, very old cat.
Truth be told, Mom, some of the choices you’ve made over the years are coming back to haunt me financially. I don’t know how I’m going to survive until your retirement starts coming in. When it does, I don’t know how I’m going to keep Medicaid without the special needs trust that you kept putting off setting up. Maybe my lawyer can figure something out. Wesley has been a little cold and doesn’t get that I’ve lost the person who shared more of me than anyone in the world. Then again, he’s a man and it’s different for them.
Getting back to Poppy, I pray to you and to God that you understand that I need you both in my life. Church is man-made. Religion is man-made. Trusting that there’s some entity out there that is larger than I am is an act of faith. God, I ask you to please, please help me hold up. I feel as if I’m going to fall off the face of the world. Worse, I don’t think I’d mind doing so if I didn’t have the girls to care for. Mom, I am happy that you are reunited with loved ones who preceded you. But I also know that you’re concerned about me. Again, I ask you and God, please, help me be strong and remain that way. Please don’t take me away from this world yet because Berry, Micki and Snippet only have me to depend on. I haven’t made a will for myself yet. I need to be here for them.
God, You took my mother away earlier than anyone else in our family. You have graciously allowed us to live into our 90s. I can’t even pretend to know the reason. Maybe you needed an excellent educator to teach the small souls who will one day make their appearance on this plane of existence. I’m clueless. I just want her back even though I know she’ll never be back, at least in the form she was in when she left. I’m trying to accept that, but please give me some time. I am a lost wretch who hasn’t been found yet. I’m blind and I can’t see yet. I hurt so much that I think I’ll split in two from the pain. So God, please, please allow Mommy to soothe me once more. If that’s not possible, then I have to accept it, not matter how much I don’t want to and can’t right now.
Perhaps this is more suitable to the job I have today: God, please keep me safe on the highways and streets I must travel so that you can receive Poppy’s soul. Please help me have the courage to stay with her during her transition and allow her spirit to scamper freely among the fields. With these words I pray to you, God. Amen.