I still often think to myself “my mom would love this”, but I catch myself before I get the words out. I guess that is a start. I know you wouldn’t want any of us to be sad. But some days, it hits me from out of the blue.
I am sure you can see from Heaven, that Milo crossed the rainbow bridge a few months ago. That little guy LOVED his Grammie.
A month ago, we adopted a new kitty. The first thing I know you would have said is “look at those eyes!”
Marco Francisco!
He’s a skittish little guy, but he is making progress in the past month since he came home. “Kitten steps” haha. They said he was 1-2 years old but he is way too rambunctious to be 2. He is still growing up and a rowdy teenager.
Molly tolerates him most of the time, except when he tries to pounce her. You would be proud of your grandkitty sticking up for herself!! It’s funny because Marco backs down like a scolded puppy. But we did catch them laying near each other, and Molly groomed him this morning.
Another success!
It felt so amazing to rescue him from the animal control. He is very curious and very talkative. He also is silly and makes us smile.
You would enjoy talking about the weather we’ve been having. Every few days is a weird wind storm with deluges of rain and one real snowfall. It melted next day but it was pretty. I do miss sending you pics.
Marco napping after watching the snow fall
We missed you over the holidays. But we were able to all come together for Thanksgiving at S&D’s house, and brunch on Christmas Eve in Wallyworld.
Of course, we missed your stuffing, and Christmas cookie extravaganza!! Nobody makes them like you do.
Well it’s now 2024 and there are so many other things I want to tell you. I hope that somehow, you can hear me or my guardian angels can pass it along.
We love you and hope you are at peace and with the twins, daddy, and everyone else in Heaven. I love you and miss you. (And if you are able, I’d love to see you in my dreams!)
Two and a half weeks ago, we said goodbye to our precious furbaby, Milo. I wanted to post soon after it happened, but his absence is palpable.
Milo was the heart of our home. So active and energetic even into his later years, always poking Ken to be part of a conversation or to play, grooming Molly and snuggling with her, or asking for treats and cuddles from me.
“Lolo”, as we often called him, was always “into something”. Even when he first came to us at a year old, he was super curious about evrything. He even had this little “curious face” which made us laugh whenever he did it.
The “curious face”
Oh, that face! When he was younger, he had this incredible smile that just melted our hearts.
A Cat Walks Into a Restaurant
Milo came to us when he was about a year old.
The silvery kitty who would become Milo had been living under the deck of a family restaurant at the time. The staff had been feeding him for a few months and a family member told Ken about him.
One evening, Ken was sitting on the deck of the restaurant, and this outgoing kitty came up to him and jumped on his lap. Fast forward to an hour later. Ken had called me to tell me about the little guy, and asked if I wanted another furbaby.
“YES!!”
I had set up one of the spare rooms for Milo, with a litter box, food and water, some toys, and brought my laptop and blankets and slept on the floor with him.
His first morning with us
Mackenzie, who was an older gentleman at the time, tolerated Milo, but Milo’s insane energy occassionally irritated him a bit. However, we’d sometimes come home to find the two of them sleeping next to one another.
Looks like Mackenzie decided to join his new brother on the big chair
We Are Family
Mackenzie left us about a year and a half later, which left Milo a single kitty for a while. We realized, though, that he needed a sibling because he needed to not only channel his energy, but also have a friend when we weren’t around. It was during this time that I was getting progressively sicker and we hated the thought of him being all by himself sometimes for 18 hours a day when I would spend two or three weeks in the hospital.
Introducing Molly, who came to us in January 2011. After an initial awkward few minutes, Milo was smitten! It didn’t take too long before they were snuggling together.
Molly and Milo, exactly one month together
Our babies had so many adventures together. They had toys and treats, treehouses, cat beds, and basically anywhere else they wanted to go. Ken had also fenced in the yard so they could play outside safely, which Milo treated like his Pride. He would do “perimeter checks” every time he went outside, as our “guard kitty”, before settling on a sunny spot on the little hill against the back fence, or snoozing in a cool spot under the patio table.
Together, Milo and Molly learned to walk with harnesses/leashes. They played in the snow. They chased each other around the many boxes that would become temporary playhouses. They competed for the prime real estate next mommy or daddy. But most of all, they loved each other so very much.
Adventures in Kittying!
We had so many family rituals with Milo, who would spend hours on Ken’s lap during morning conference calls, or follow him into the living room at the end of the day for some one-on-one buddy time. He also loved to sit with me while I wore my respiratory vest. He always wanted to be in the center of the action.
Two of Milo’s rituals
Yes, Milo was a spoiled kitty, and we wouldn’t have had it any other way. Milo was always there to love us. And he was certainly “daddy’s little buddy”.
After Ken’s shoulder surgery, both cats sat on and with him for 2 entire weeks as he recovered. If we were having a disagreement, Milo, ever the jester, would do something to make us laugh. If Ken was telling a lively story, Milo would pull on his pant leg, wanting to be part of the good energy. He’d also keep Ken company when practicing darts, doing yard work, or working on his computer.
If I was upset, Milo would come over to me and lean against me so I could hug him. He would purr and boop my face with his little nose. Sometimes, he’d put his paw on my hand.
My sweet boy
He also loved music. We’d play music and sing to him, make up silly songs about him, and when he was not feeling well, “Soft Kitty” would help him relax and fall asleep.
And when it came to Molly – “his girl” – he could not get enough of her. He’d seek her out, join her for naps, groom her (and asked her to groom him). Even as Milo was losing steam to arthritis and began having mobility issues, one jingle of her bell would summon him to her. Milo would leave his food, a sunbeam, or even the most comfy place, to go find her. We have so many photos of them cuddling, mutual grooming, and tag-teaming for treats. They even had meetings at the kitty fountain, and he’d send her to us to get us to do their bidding, like go outside or get a treat.
Over the Rainbow Bridge
We had to say good bye to Milo on a Tuesday night, after an unexpected rapid acceleration of a preexisting health condition. Although he had seen his gradual slowing down over time with his arthritis and overall health, he continued to do all the things he loved to do.
We didn’t, however, expect him not to come home with us after what became the final visit to the pet hospital. His absence was instantly noticeable. As was little Molly’s confusion over an empty cat carrier. We put his collar in it so she could perhaps understand, but she is struggling.
I want to end this on a positive note, however.
Milo had the heart of a lion, the behavior of a tiger (he chuffed!!), and always seemed more of a puma cub than a cat because of his size. He loved his life, he loved us, and the world was so much better with him in it.
Today is my 26th wedding anniversary. K and I have now been married for over half my life.
When we first met, it was on vacation. I was in Virginia Beach with my college roommate L, and K was visiting his cousin who was in the navy at that time.
It was absolute fate that we met. L and I were in a souvenir shop, looking at hoodies and such, and K walks in. We spent the next 20 minutes making excuses to stay in the shop. I ended up buying a pair of plaid boxer shorts with embroidered “Virginia Beach” on the leg, and finally walked out.
About 10 seconds later, K hurried out the door and caught up to us, inviting us to a corner outdoor restaurant for lunch. Although we had just eaten, I elbowed L not-so-discreetly and a little too enthusiastically said “sure!”.
In front of us was a cute outdoor pub called “Abbey Road” and we grabbed a table for three.
It was the beginning of a conversation during which we discovered a lot of coincidences.
* The fact that both of us were there in VA Beach by accident.
* The fact that we both originally were supposed to be in DC.
* When K offered to order drinks, he asked for Long Island Iced Teas, which at the time was my favorite cocktail.
…And so many more little things that collectively should have otherwise been a giant neon sign with arrows pointing to our table.
I can’t tell you how long we were sitting there. Long enough to have a few drinks and pretend to eat the nachos we ordered. It was March, and the sun was still setting earlier than later.
As dusk approached, L and I finally decided to take our leave. K asked for our hotel phone number. I gave it to him, and we met up with him and his friends the following couple of nights to hit up a comedy club and various social establishments.
From a Different World
K was so different from anyone I had ever met before. First, he was from the south. He had an accent, and was a true southern gentleman.
I was from southern New England, and had only dated people from pretty much the CT/NY/NJ tri-state area. K’s family lived in Arkansas, and at the time, he attended school in Missouri. He grew up moving frequently before he graduated high school, whereas I had never lived out of my home state.
The day we met
The Next Steps
After saying goodbye a few days after meeting and hanging out, my roommate and I drove the back up the coast to CT. Imagine my surprise when my phone rang that evening and K was calling from the plane.
“I just had to talk to you” he said.
That phone call was the first of nightly calls for the next 6 weeks. This was back when long distance calls cost extra, but you got a discount after 9 or 10 pm. We typically spent a good 3-4 hours on the phone nightly.
After the first month, we tried to cut back because we both got hit with massive phone bills, but we couldn’t stay away. In the meantime, K had sent me a care package with some fun stuff from Arkansas and also a special gift.
Though it didn’t seem logical, we were falling in love over the phone and letters. Oh, the letters! I’d write them during class, in between my school newspaper assignments, homework, etc. Practically every day, my mailbox would contain an envelope from Missouri.
Fast forward from the day we met to sometime in May – K was moving to CT. He had already been looking to transfer to a school with a good program for his major, and my school happened to be on the short list, amazingly.
Life Was Moving Quickly
That summer, K moved, transferred his credits, and found a job and apartment. With school, work, and dealingg with a major abdominal surgery (for me), life was busy.
K proposed to me on Christmas eve, almost exactly 9 months after the day we met. he had driving in a blizzard to meet up with my dad to get his permission first.
My prince and I on our wedding day
We got married on a crisp autumn day in mid-October. The changing leaves were still on the trees and cascaded over our day like cherry blossoms in the spring.
K knew about my Cystic Fibrosis, and yet he still pursued our relationship. Contrary to my lifelong fear that I’d share with my mom that “nobody would want me because of my illness”, here was an incredible man with talent, ambition, and above all, love, standing in front of me, pledging his devotion.
Half of My Life
I have now been married half my life to the living embodiment of my perfect half. We have been through a lot, and we always manage to find the joys behind even the toughest moments. Love like that is more than I could have ever expected, and I am truly humbled to be called his wife.
I love you!
I am so thankful for the love we share, and for every moment that has led to today.
I last posted about not being able to tell my mom all the things I would usually tell her. It had become this overwhelming ball of pressure like an overfilled balloon.
The other day, I had a number of things to do.
I needed a caffeine boost first, so I started by making coffee. The first thing that comes to mind when I drink coffee is my Mom. She’d make her morning coffee, then her afternoon cup, and sometimes even one after dinner.
Growing up, we probably started drinking coffee earlier than our peers. I recall that my daily coffee habit had established itself during 8th grade.
Yes, I still have my senior year coffee mug
And so it began, that sitting around the table with a cup of coffee became a thing for us, my sisters, my mom, and me.
We are gabbers, all of us girls. We all do it.
It made sense that when we had time and opportunity, we’d call each other. As adults, our longest conversations happened while getting things done.
Our ritual
Once I was married, and we had moved i to our own house, and I would find myself calling Mom while doing mundane things.
We’d chat while cleaning or cooking, and on those particular days, we just never ran out of something to say. I remember so many times when we’d finish a long call and one of us would suddenly remember one last thing we had wanted to tell the other, only to stay on the phone another 45 minutes.
So there I was, making coffee, and started to talk out loud to my mom. It just happened without thinking.
I told her about how I had mixed my usual cheap coffee with a pound of Dunkin’ Donuts bright blend. I told her how it made a pretty good cup, and that I thought she would’ve liked it. And then it led me down the road of a topic that we had discussed many many times, which was, “should I get a stovetop percolator?”. Percolators make a fine cuppa. (I still have not made that decision).
As I started doing my work, I just kept talking as if I had the phone on speaker.
The words just started to pour out. I got lost in the conversation.
I finally got to tell her about the little seafood restaurant, and how the menu featured so many dishes that she would’ve loved.
Often times we would talk about food that I was cooking or some thing that we had had, and she would joke “have some for me” because she was maybe watching her cholesterol or she got heartburn from whatever it was. So it became a big joke where we would always have to “have some for her”.
I promised her that the next time we went there, we would order food that she loved, and we would dedicate it to her.
A sandwich at the new seafood restaurant
I also talked about the cats, who never failed to provide a good encdote. I talked about our plan for getting rid of furniture and rearranging the house. I rattled on about 7 or 8 different topics that were in my head at the moment.
All the while, I was corralling the cats, washing the floor, unloading the dishwasher and reloading it, putting things away – all things that I would usually do during one of our marathon phone calls. And per usual, for a good hour and a half, I just kept babbling.
The cats (im)patiently waiting for me to let them out into the yard
Some healing
This conversation with my Mom had a few more tears than they did in the past, but I also found myself laughing a few times. Laughing and smiling at some memories that randomly popped up.
I heard her, in my soul. Although at some points, I forgot that she wasn’t really on the other end of the phone, when I did, I knew what she would have said in response. I truly felt that we were having a two-way conversation.
Somehow, the building pressure of all the things I had thought about telling her had released. It was like an overfilled balloon running out of air. I dare say, I felt a little bit of healing in that moment.
I am struggling to get used to the huge absence. I never realized how much space she inhabited in my life. However, I am starting to catch myself before finishing the sentence “I have to tell my Mom”.
I finished my work after about two hours, which is a challenge for me to accomplish at once. I said good-bye to my Mom as I poured a second cup of coffee, and sat down to rest, promising her, “I’ll have some for you!”
Over the past month, the thought continues to come to mind daily, sometimes more than 2 or 3 times a day.
Let me first say this. Until maybe a couple of months before my Mom was diagnosed with stage 4 non-small cell squamous lung cancer that metasticized, we spoke rather frequently.
I thought at the time, talking was becoming more difficult for her due to her COPD. I knew how a longer conversation could leave one breathless, so we cut back how long we’d chat. Only looking back do I realize I should have seen it coming (but that’s a story for another day).
Until then, we’d vacillate on the frequency and length of our conversations. Some weeks, we’d chat just a couple of times, depending on how I was feeling, but during most weeks, we’d speak 4-5 times.
Something To Talk About
On the days I wasn’t up to chatting but didn’t want to be rude, I sometimes had a hard time thinking of things to talk about.
This was opposed to the marathon conversations we’d have while cooking or cleaning, when we’d chat mindlessly for an hour, an hour and a half, even two or more hours. Don’t ask me about what, sometimes the conversation just flowed.
But during those times when I struggled to have anything to contribute because I was sick and had nothing interesting to say, I’d make lists of things to share. Random gossip, news items, impending weather, anecdotes about the cats. So I got in the habit of always making lists of things to tell her.
Another list for another conversation
I also got into the habit of sending her videos and pics, either that I found online or took of the cats or weather (we both shared an odd love of the weather).
Storm clouds pic that I sent to my Mom
Newer to smart phones, she had learned how to do the same. National Banana Day? That was a text. Free Donut Day? That was a text. My nieces and nephews thought it was hilarious when she’d send something silly.
Her last text message to me…well, the cats😻
Her diagnosis seemed to not only come out of nowhere, but also exploded, both symptomatically and clinically only after being told, she had an increasingly difficult time talking on the phone, so we texted.
It became habit over those short 3 months to every day wish each other good morning and good night, because she never knew how she’d be feeling or, if she was in the hospital (which she was for ⅔ of that time), if someone was tending to her.
Now What?
So now I am left wondering, will I ever remember that there will be no next phone call or text? Do I want to remember that? Or do I want to keep thinking of things I wanted to share with her?
My husband and I tried a new restaurant last week and I kept thinking, she would LOVE this. I have photos I have taken, and have nowhere to send them.
I am seriously lost right now. I don’t even have a way to tie this post with a bow. So I will leave it at this: I’m confused and don’t know what to do with these thoughts.
Mom, I just realized that the only part I wrote to you was the title. Maybe I am processing this a little. I pray daily that you are at peace, Mom. I love you.
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