The Pitcher

 

You think about someone a lot when they die. I might do it too much, I don’t know how to measure it.

My late mother collected pitchers, a hobby about which I knew nothing. I have two: a clear glass creamer, and a red and gold slender pitcher with a vaguely Asian look.

Not knowing her well, I was only temporarily surprised that she had this collection. That was not the dominant feeling.

The dominant feeling, in addition to sadness, was acknowledging that my mother and I knew very little about each other.

Not knowing each other upset me when she was alive. Oddly – to me, at least – after she died, I only felt sadness for both of us.

In lieu of pleasant memories, I washed the pitcher and put the shiny, pretty item on a glass table for display.

And remembering.

A Quandary, If You Must Know

My memories of people are sometimes good ones, sometimes not, sometimes too much… often too much 

  to keep knots out of my stomach and tears from my eyes. 

But what of pets? A cat, if you must know, not even the first to die but one of many and the third to die but not the third to miss and say goodbye. 

I accept necessary memories that are mixed with pain and understand people - why they loved, why they didn’t… understand their needs and flaws. 

But what of pets? A cat, if you must know. There’s no logic, except I was needed. Pets depend on us - that is not love. They can be a nuisance but they are not cruel, only selfishly demanding. If they die or leave us, it is not in their control. 

We are taught to forgive people and let the pain go. But what of pets?  A cat, if you must know. A quandary, if you must know.

 

Blogbits: Mourning Will Not Be Denied

Mourning deferred returns with a vengeance. It seems to not matter if we push it aside for a day or a year. Mourning will not be denied.

We need to learn to manage it, not deny it.

“Everyone keeps telling me that time heals all wounds, but no one can tell me what I’m supposed to do right now.”

  ~ Nina Guilbeau

“She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.”

  ~ Jonathan Safran Foer

“In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares. The older have learned to ever expect it.”

  ~ Abraham Lincoln

#blogbits #bluemissn