Today is Friday the 13th.
I am not superstitious about that, or much else. The only reason why I am thinking about the fact that it's Friday the 13th is something that happened the last time Friday the 13th came in January.
The year was 2012: five years ago. I was pedaling home from work when, all of a sudden, I burst into tears. I was crying so hard that I could barely see in front of me or control my bike. I stopped in an ATM vestibule and let it all out. Or so I thought. I got back on my bike, but only for a couple of blocks before I saw a cat in a store window. Then the tears streamed out even more and I could barely stand, let alone pedal.
I am almost entirely sure that some time during my crying fits, Charlie died. When I got home, I found him lying stiff on the floor, his hind legs crossed.
Max and Marlee, the cats who currently reside with me, are sweet and loving. In fact, I adopted Marlee just a few weeks after I lost Charlie. But I will never forget Charlie: He came into my life as I was undergoing fundamental and sometimes dramatic (and traumatic!) changes. He was with me through some very happy and very intense times, including my gender reassignment. And, of course, he was reading over my shoulder (!) as I typed the early entries of this blog.
When anyone, human or otherwise, shows you nothing but love of the kind that renders you incapable of feeling anything but love for him or her, you don't "get over" losing him or her. And you shouldn't: That love becomes a part of you, along with all sorts of memories. It becomes, perhaps paradoxically, why you find new friends or companions after such a loss: They are a testament to what you have shared with the one who has departed.
Max and Marlee greet me when I come back from a bike ride. So did Charlie. So does he.
P.S. The "Charlie" to whom I am referring was the second cat I lived with who was named Charlie. So in earlier posts, I referred to him as Charlie II and the first as Charlie I.
I am not superstitious about that, or much else. The only reason why I am thinking about the fact that it's Friday the 13th is something that happened the last time Friday the 13th came in January.
The year was 2012: five years ago. I was pedaling home from work when, all of a sudden, I burst into tears. I was crying so hard that I could barely see in front of me or control my bike. I stopped in an ATM vestibule and let it all out. Or so I thought. I got back on my bike, but only for a couple of blocks before I saw a cat in a store window. Then the tears streamed out even more and I could barely stand, let alone pedal.
I am almost entirely sure that some time during my crying fits, Charlie died. When I got home, I found him lying stiff on the floor, his hind legs crossed.
Max and Marlee, the cats who currently reside with me, are sweet and loving. In fact, I adopted Marlee just a few weeks after I lost Charlie. But I will never forget Charlie: He came into my life as I was undergoing fundamental and sometimes dramatic (and traumatic!) changes. He was with me through some very happy and very intense times, including my gender reassignment. And, of course, he was reading over my shoulder (!) as I typed the early entries of this blog.
When anyone, human or otherwise, shows you nothing but love of the kind that renders you incapable of feeling anything but love for him or her, you don't "get over" losing him or her. And you shouldn't: That love becomes a part of you, along with all sorts of memories. It becomes, perhaps paradoxically, why you find new friends or companions after such a loss: They are a testament to what you have shared with the one who has departed.
Max and Marlee greet me when I come back from a bike ride. So did Charlie. So does he.
P.S. The "Charlie" to whom I am referring was the second cat I lived with who was named Charlie. So in earlier posts, I referred to him as Charlie II and the first as Charlie I.
