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in article , Marina at
wrote on 8/24/04 9:34 PM:


wrote

Actually, today Roxy demonstrated a decided lack of grace. My clothes
bureau is next to my bedroom closet, and there's a high shelf in the
closet that Roxy likes to leap up to and hang out on. She gets up there
by jumping up from the bureau. But today there was a thin book on the
bureau, so when she pushed off with her back legs, the book went the
other way, leaving her with insufficient energy to reach the closet shelf.
She landed on the closet floor, which luckily had a big folded comforter
on it, so it was a soft landing. But not on her dignity - she actually
raced out of the room, looking chagrined. (I had to cover my mouth to
mute my chuckles.)

She came back a few minutes later, eyeing the bureau suspiciously. I
moved the evil book out of the way, cheering her on, "Come on, Roxy,
get back up on that horse! You can do it!" She leapt up effortlessly,
and is still up there now - I believe she is still hiding from
embarrassment.


LOL! Well done, Joyce, to get her confidence back so quickly.

Heh. Heh. It's the kitty version of Paul Hamm

in article , Marina at
wrote on 8/24/04 9:34 PM:


wrote

Actually, today Roxy demonstrated a decided lack of grace. My clothes
bureau is next to my bedroom closet, and there's a high shelf in the
closet that Roxy likes to leap up to and hang out on. She gets up there
by jumping up from the bureau. But today there was a thin book on the
bureau, so when she pushed off with her back legs, the book went the
other way, leaving her with insufficient energy to reach the closet shelf.
She landed on the closet floor, which luckily had a big folded comforter
on it, so it was a soft landing. But not on her dignity - she actually
raced out of the room, looking chagrined. (I had to cover my mouth to
mute my chuckles.)

She came back a few minutes later, eyeing the bureau suspiciously. I
moved the evil book out of the way, cheering her on, "Come on, Roxy,
get back up on that horse! You can do it!" She leapt up effortlessly,
and is still up there now - I believe she is still hiding from
embarrassment.


LOL! Well done, Joyce, to get her confidence back so quickly.

Heh. Heh. It's the kitty version of Paul Hamm

"Cheryl" wrote

Marina, this is the part that makes my heart feel squeezed until it
can't beat:

That carefree, naive
person is gone forever,
And I am mourning that loss too.

I don't know how to be the same as I was after this. Because I'm
not. I am coming to terms with him gone, but what is left behind
with me is not a happy person. I miss him so much. I miss what the
future would have been. I miss watching him excel in his field that
was new to him, but he was so good at it at, and I dream about
going to see his band play because I never got to do that. They
played so late at night at parties that I felt too old to go to,
besides I was usually sound asleep when their set came on at 11 or
12 at night. And I feel cheated out of being a grandmother because
I would have been good at it. My thoughts sometimes go back to the
day when he was about 17 and told me the girl he was seeing was
pregnant. My heart stopped then because he hesitated before he told
me the baby wasn't his, that she was already pregnant when he met
her. Now I dream about a different outcome and that it was his baby
and I would have a part of him still in this world. I just really
really miss him with all of my heart.

I know, Cheryl. Yet, not having any children of my own, much less having
lost one, I feel I can't claim to know how you feel, but still I believe I
do know. Those words in the poem ring so true to me. Maybe I don't. But at
least I can offer purrs and hugs. {{{Cheryl}}}

--
Marina, Frank and Nikki
Email marina (dot) kurten (at) pp (dot) inet (dot) fi
Pics at http://uk.f1.pg.photos.yahoo.com/frankiennikki

"Cheryl" wrote

Marina, this is the part that makes my heart feel squeezed until it
can't beat:

That carefree, naive
person is gone forever,
And I am mourning that loss too.

I don't know how to be the same as I was after this. Because I'm
not. I am coming to terms with him gone, but what is left behind
with me is not a happy person. I miss him so much. I miss what the
future would have been. I miss watching him excel in his field that
was new to him, but he was so good at it at, and I dream about
going to see his band play because I never got to do that. They
played so late at night at parties that I felt too old to go to,
besides I was usually sound asleep when their set came on at 11 or
12 at night. And I feel cheated out of being a grandmother because
I would have been good at it. My thoughts sometimes go back to the
day when he was about 17 and told me the girl he was seeing was
pregnant. My heart stopped then because he hesitated before he told
me the baby wasn't his, that she was already pregnant when he met
her. Now I dream about a different outcome and that it was his baby
and I would have a part of him still in this world. I just really
really miss him with all of my heart.

I know, Cheryl. Yet, not having any children of my own, much less having
lost one, I feel I can't claim to know how you feel, but still I believe I
do know. Those words in the poem ring so true to me. Maybe I don't. But at
least I can offer purrs and hugs. {{{Cheryl}}}

--
Marina, Frank and Nikki
Email marina (dot) kurten (at) pp (dot) inet (dot) fi
Pics at http://uk.f1.pg.photos.yahoo.com/frankiennikki

"Cheryl" wrote

Marina, this is the part that makes my heart feel squeezed until it
can't beat:

That carefree, naive
person is gone forever,
And I am mourning that loss too.

I don't know how to be the same as I was after this. Because I'm
not. I am coming to terms with him gone, but what is left behind
with me is not a happy person. I miss him so much. I miss what the
future would have been. I miss watching him excel in his field that
was new to him, but he was so good at it at, and I dream about
going to see his band play because I never got to do that. They
played so late at night at parties that I felt too old to go to,
besides I was usually sound asleep when their set came on at 11 or
12 at night. And I feel cheated out of being a grandmother because
I would have been good at it. My thoughts sometimes go back to the
day when he was about 17 and told me the girl he was seeing was
pregnant. My heart stopped then because he hesitated before he told
me the baby wasn't his, that she was already pregnant when he met
her. Now I dream about a different outcome and that it was his baby
and I would have a part of him still in this world. I just really
really miss him with all of my heart.

I know, Cheryl. Yet, not having any children of my own, much less having
lost one, I feel I can't claim to know how you feel, but still I believe I
do know. Those words in the poem ring so true to me. Maybe I don't. But at
least I can offer purrs and hugs. {{{Cheryl}}}

--
Marina, Frank and Nikki
Email marina (dot) kurten (at) pp (dot) inet (dot) fi
Pics at http://uk.f1.pg.photos.yahoo.com/frankiennikki

"Tanada" wrote in message
ink.net...

Cancer. It is amazing how many people are made totally uncomfortable by
cancer. I'm not sure if it's because they think it's catching, the
operation scars can be ugly (Americans don't like their people to be
"ugly"), they feel vulnerable, just don't know what to say, or a
combination of the above. I've seen people just stare at Rob like he's
from Mars when we're out somewhere. He may not be doing anything other
than eating (he has excellent table manners, better than mine), but they
stare at him like he's on exhibit.

I was uncomfortable visiting my friend not because she had cancer or might
want to talk about fears of dying and so on. I just didn't know *what* she
would want to talk about! I felt like I was flaunting my health with my
children when I was talking about them, yet she really perked up when she
heard all the stories. I didn't want to come in and ignore her condition,
focus too much on the condition, talk too much about her / myself. I
thought it was important that I went anyway and tried to figure it out at
the time. I think that she wanted distraction from the side effects of the
chemo and some normalcy in the stories.

Any further advice would be greatly appreciated!

Susan M
Otis and Chester

"Tanada" wrote in message
ink.net...

Cancer. It is amazing how many people are made totally uncomfortable by
cancer. I'm not sure if it's because they think it's catching, the
operation scars can be ugly (Americans don't like their people to be
"ugly"), they feel vulnerable, just don't know what to say, or a
combination of the above. I've seen people just stare at Rob like he's
from Mars when we're out somewhere. He may not be doing anything other
than eating (he has excellent table manners, better than mine), but they
stare at him like he's on exhibit.

I was uncomfortable visiting my friend not because she had cancer or might
want to talk about fears of dying and so on. I just didn't know *what* she
would want to talk about! I felt like I was flaunting my health with my
children when I was talking about them, yet she really perked up when she
heard all the stories. I didn't want to come in and ignore her condition,
focus too much on the condition, talk too much about her / myself. I
thought it was important that I went anyway and tried to figure it out at
the time. I think that she wanted distraction from the side effects of the
chemo and some normalcy in the stories.

Any further advice would be greatly appreciated!

Susan M
Otis and Chester

"Tanada" wrote in message
ink.net...

Cancer. It is amazing how many people are made totally uncomfortable by
cancer. I'm not sure if it's because they think it's catching, the
operation scars can be ugly (Americans don't like their people to be
"ugly"), they feel vulnerable, just don't know what to say, or a
combination of the above. I've seen people just stare at Rob like he's
from Mars when we're out somewhere. He may not be doing anything other
than eating (he has excellent table manners, better than mine), but they
stare at him like he's on exhibit.

I was uncomfortable visiting my friend not because she had cancer or might
want to talk about fears of dying and so on. I just didn't know *what* she
would want to talk about! I felt like I was flaunting my health with my
children when I was talking about them, yet she really perked up when she
heard all the stories. I didn't want to come in and ignore her condition,
focus too much on the condition, talk too much about her / myself. I
thought it was important that I went anyway and tried to figure it out at
the time. I think that she wanted distraction from the side effects of the
chemo and some normalcy in the stories.

Any further advice would be greatly appreciated!

Susan M
Otis and Chester

Cheryl wrote:

Marina, this is the part that makes my heart feel squeezed until it
can't beat:

That carefree, naive
person is gone forever,
And I am mourning that loss too.

I don't know how to be the same as I was after this. Because I'm
not. I am coming to terms with him gone, but what is left behind
with me is not a happy person.

I agree that you probably will never be the person you were before.
But I also believe that you won't always be the person you are now.
I believe that you can heal, and can find some joy in life again. Not
that you'll return to the life you had when your son was alive, but
that you'll find some new way of being that is probably not even
conceivable to you now. That might not be much comfort to you right
now, but I wouldn't expect it to be - the loss is still too fresh.
Sometime down the road, though, you might find yourself feeling different.

At least, that is my experience with every loss I've ever had in my
life. For a while, it doesn't seem as though I'll ever be happy again.
That seems to go on forever. The there's that day when I first hear
myself laughing, for the first time in ages. And there's that first
time when I'm able to have a good time, or look forward to something,
or be joyful about one thing, or just appreciate something simple in
life. I can't get to that point until I've grieved for whatever time is
necessary, but when I do, it's like the sun coming out for the first
time in years.

It's not that all the pain goes away when that happens, but it is the
point when I realize that I want to go on living, that there are reasons
why life is worth living, and that I have hope again that I can be happy.

I remember one line from Desiderata (sp?) - you know, that poem about
being a child of the universe, and so on. Anyway, the line goes, "Neither
be cynical about love, for love is as perennial as the grass." For some
reason, that line has always stuck with me, and has reminded me time and
again that even when things seem completely hopeless, that I could never
love again or never feel joyful again, that the grass will grow back once
again, like it does year after year. It might be deep winter now, but
life does continue, and it will come back.

{{{Purrs}}}

Joyce

Cheryl wrote:

Marina, this is the part that makes my heart feel squeezed until it
can't beat:

That carefree, naive
person is gone forever,
And I am mourning that loss too.

I don't know how to be the same as I was after this. Because I'm
not. I am coming to terms with him gone, but what is left behind
with me is not a happy person.

I agree that you probably will never be the person you were before.
But I also believe that you won't always be the person you are now.
I believe that you can heal, and can find some joy in life again. Not
that you'll return to the life you had when your son was alive, but
that you'll find some new way of being that is probably not even
conceivable to you now. That might not be much comfort to you right
now, but I wouldn't expect it to be - the loss is still too fresh.
Sometime down the road, though, you might find yourself feeling different.

At least, that is my experience with every loss I've ever had in my
life. For a while, it doesn't seem as though I'll ever be happy again.
That seems to go on forever. The there's that day when I first hear
myself laughing, for the first time in ages. And there's that first
time when I'm able to have a good time, or look forward to something,
or be joyful about one thing, or just appreciate something simple in
life. I can't get to that point until I've grieved for whatever time is
necessary, but when I do, it's like the sun coming out for the first
time in years.

It's not that all the pain goes away when that happens, but it is the
point when I realize that I want to go on living, that there are reasons
why life is worth living, and that I have hope again that I can be happy.

I remember one line from Desiderata (sp?) - you know, that poem about
being a child of the universe, and so on. Anyway, the line goes, "Neither
be cynical about love, for love is as perennial as the grass." For some
reason, that line has always stuck with me, and has reminded me time and
again that even when things seem completely hopeless, that I could never
love again or never feel joyful again, that the grass will grow back once
again, like it does year after year. It might be deep winter now, but
life does continue, and it will come back.

{{{Purrs}}}

Joyce