Sometimes you act like a colossal, spoiled pain in the ass.
No, not YOU you; I'm talking to someone else.
That is all. Thank you.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Hammy
I'll admit that I feel a little foolish saying that we are mourning the death of our hamster. People seem to better understand the loss of a dog or cat more so than a glorified rodent. But our gentle fluff ball of a friend was more to us than that.
If you are not a fan of hamsters, I will not try to change what you feel by saying how adorable, charming, friendly, and curious he was. But he was. My mother heart took great pleasure in watching my kids play with him, spoil him, and fuss over him. What a great way for them to learn responsibility, compassion, and stewardship. I liked the hammy as much as they did, and before long I loved him as well.
I often wondered what he made of us, these furless giants that wanted to pick him up and pet him. I sometimes wondered if we were no more than giant hands to him, and if our size was just too great for him to comprehend. Whatever the case, he had the giant hands trained to feed him, give him treats, and snuggle him while he napped, having long ago lost any fear that nature would have endowed to him.
Please don't judge me when I say that his death brought up a lot of memories about when my mother died. First of all, he died the same week that my mother would have turned 70, so she was on my mind anyway. Second, his death reminded me of the helplessness and powerlessness I felt when Mom died. As in her case, we knew he was dying, and it was a long time coming. We were torn between wanting to keep him with us as long as possible, yet not wanting him to suffer. He was so weak that we helped him eat and drink, but he soon lost the will even for that. He slept for days in a weak and pathetic limbo, and every morning I was surprised that he was still breathing.
My mind kept going back to hospice workers talking to us about the death process, and of looking for any clue that would help us guess at the time line of this process. Who wants to accept that they are out of control of what is happening? A shallow breath, a twitch= days? Hours?
My husband, every bit the big softy when it comes to animals, declared the whole thing a valuable life lesson. Indeed. So we did what any big bunch of boobs would do: tears, a funeral, eulogies, and a photo album.
Then I did what I couldn't do with my mother, or anyone else I have cared for and lost: I went out and bought another hamster. Our new little Jojo has some big paws to fill, but she has helped to dry the tears and add a note of joy to the house. Once again, litter is tossed, food is buried, and the wheel squeaks in the middle of the night - music to my ears!
But I still want my old hammy back. I just do.
If you are not a fan of hamsters, I will not try to change what you feel by saying how adorable, charming, friendly, and curious he was. But he was. My mother heart took great pleasure in watching my kids play with him, spoil him, and fuss over him. What a great way for them to learn responsibility, compassion, and stewardship. I liked the hammy as much as they did, and before long I loved him as well.
I often wondered what he made of us, these furless giants that wanted to pick him up and pet him. I sometimes wondered if we were no more than giant hands to him, and if our size was just too great for him to comprehend. Whatever the case, he had the giant hands trained to feed him, give him treats, and snuggle him while he napped, having long ago lost any fear that nature would have endowed to him.
Please don't judge me when I say that his death brought up a lot of memories about when my mother died. First of all, he died the same week that my mother would have turned 70, so she was on my mind anyway. Second, his death reminded me of the helplessness and powerlessness I felt when Mom died. As in her case, we knew he was dying, and it was a long time coming. We were torn between wanting to keep him with us as long as possible, yet not wanting him to suffer. He was so weak that we helped him eat and drink, but he soon lost the will even for that. He slept for days in a weak and pathetic limbo, and every morning I was surprised that he was still breathing.
My mind kept going back to hospice workers talking to us about the death process, and of looking for any clue that would help us guess at the time line of this process. Who wants to accept that they are out of control of what is happening? A shallow breath, a twitch= days? Hours?
My husband, every bit the big softy when it comes to animals, declared the whole thing a valuable life lesson. Indeed. So we did what any big bunch of boobs would do: tears, a funeral, eulogies, and a photo album.
Then I did what I couldn't do with my mother, or anyone else I have cared for and lost: I went out and bought another hamster. Our new little Jojo has some big paws to fill, but she has helped to dry the tears and add a note of joy to the house. Once again, litter is tossed, food is buried, and the wheel squeaks in the middle of the night - music to my ears!
But I still want my old hammy back. I just do.
broken record
i feel like a broken record (remember those?)
i'm stuck on a blog post
stuck on a blog post
stuck on a blog post
can't quite get it right, and can't get past it
keep telling myself to move on, the dumb thing can just sit in the draft file
what did we do with a broken record back in the old days? troubleshoot, clean it off, just throw it away
will try to take my own advice
i'm stuck on a blog post
stuck on a blog post
stuck on a blog post
can't quite get it right, and can't get past it
keep telling myself to move on, the dumb thing can just sit in the draft file
what did we do with a broken record back in the old days? troubleshoot, clean it off, just throw it away
will try to take my own advice
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