Monday, January 28, 2019
We put our cat down this week. She was 23 years old. It wasn’t a surprise.
Funny thing, she, for 95% of her life, defied the definition of ‘pet’ as no one could pet her. For twenty plus years she was just this thing that lived under my bed and came out occasionally for food or to scratch someone. She always looked like a kitten which always gave me the idea that she would outlive me, if for no other reason, then merely out of spite.
She was relatively unlikable for a long time.
Last Thursday we sat the girls down letting them know that we would be taking Phoebe to the vet the next morning and that they should spend the evening saying ‘goodbye’. Macy, my animal whisperer, lost it completely. It was no surprise. Avery, my eldest also had a meltdown. My youngest, Darby, ever the opportunist immediately asked for a new 'replacement' kitten.
Let’s get the body in the ground before we have that discussion, Darbs, but nice try.
My wife was able to keep herself together until the big day, as was I, but when the time came, we both became the same brand of puddles that our kids were 12 hours earlier.
Our reactions surprised me, but I was surprised for different reasons for each of us. For my wife, it was surprising seeing her melt down considering she grew up on a ranch. The rancher’s life requires that you often see things you’ve named appear on the dinner table. It offers a bit of detachment from situations like this from a young age. For one reason or another, her immunity didn't work this time.
I was also surprised that I was bothered to the degree that I was. I literally had a hate-hate relationship with the animal for half of my life and most of hers. I have, in the past, tried to get my wife to get rid of it. I have kicked it off the bed tens of thousands of times. Simply put, she has been my nemesis since I was in my late twenties. So why was I upset?
I guess that’s the lesson here, little ladies. I was affected for a variety of reasons. The first is familiarity. The little demon lived under my roof since we owned the roof. I’ve thrown her off the bed ten times a night for the last fifteen years. I was used to her. But more importantly, it’s the weight of having to tell you guys, the weight of being there with mommy. It’s seeing how it affects you three and your mother. I don’t want to see any of you hurting. Sort of my dad job is to keep you safe and to see you that upset gives me a “I’m failing at dad jobs” sort of feeling. One last thing it could be. Perhaps we all need an nemesis. A being that proves that you are good by the very nature of their existence. I know I'm good because I'm hated by something evil. Not entirely sure about that last one, but I'll take it.
Here’s the other thing though, ladies. It’s important to learn the lessons that the death of a pet teaches. You had it once with “The Claw” the hermit crab, but this one cuts a little deeper. I can tell you this; there is no substitute for experience when it comes to loss. It sucks, it sucks a lot, but down the road, you’ll be a little better for it.
Phoebe knew you loved her and deep down, super deep down, Mariana Trench deep, she appreciated it.
Wednesday, January 2, 2019
2018 wasn’t all bad, but more often than not, I didn’t have a great time. I didn’t accomplish much of what I wanted to do and got fatter while not doing it.
I didn’t run the marathon I planned on running.
I didn’t get certified for the certification I intended to do.
The porch didn’t get built and the flooring looks like the same flooring as 2017.
I was moodier than I wanted to be.
I ran half as much as I had hoped.
Long story short, I wasn’t the dad, the hubby or the person I was hoping to be last year. I wasn’t bad, but I had big plans. The best laid plans of mice and men, right?
Here’s the thing. As the calendar changes from year to year, nothing magical happens at midnight. The world doesn’t reset itself. It is merely the morning after a later than normal night.
While nothing magical happens to the outside world, something can change inside.
I have long believed that as the January calendar rolls around, a lot of things can change. It takes a bit of honest reflection. It requires a willingness to call yourself out for your shortcomings. Most of all, however, it necessitates a boat load of optimism.
I have all of that in spades.
Reflective, self-critical and foolishly optimistic? Check, check and check!
So, with 2018 solidly in the rear view, it’s time to turn my sights towards 2019.
Most years I give my self an impossibly long list of resolutions. Long enough to be pretty much unattainable. I always figure that if I fall short, I will still have accomplished a lot.
This year I have only one resolution.
But it’s a monster.
And it’s just for me to know. Suffice it to say that if I fall short on this one, I have accomplished nothing.
Maybe I’d better build the porch, too.
So, girls, the lesson here is pretty simple. A lot of starting fresh and getting a bit of a life reset lives between your ears. For me, January first is a big deal. Realistically, it could be January first or August first or June fifth. It doesn’t matter the day or the hour or the minute. I personally like to reset on New Year’s as my batteries are generally recharged having seen friends and family over the holidays. If you decide it’s time for a fresh start just give yourself one. Look at what needs fixing and approach it with vigor and optimism.
Avery, if you’ve blown off baritone training for the better part of the semester, it doesn’t do you any good to look backwards. Push forwards. Macy, if you lose your starting spot in soccer, you can remember that you haven’t practiced your foot skills in a year but don’t beat yourself up, just try harder. Darby, yeah, you’ve missed some homework assignments. Get caught up and move on. Life is to short to fill it with regrets. Hit the reset button and move on.
I need to remember that more often the rest of the year.