Tuesday, May 4, 2010

A dream about a kitty.

Dear Baby,

Last night, I dreamed about O. It was a really vivid dream, and I was so profoundly sad when I woke up. The thing is, in my dream, I knew I was dreaming. I have never in my life had a dream where I knew I was dreaming. (Well, none that I can remember anyway.)

In my dream, I was so heartbroken and missing O so badly, and he came to visit. And I knew I was dreaming his visit, but it was kind of like he came to my dream because that was the only place we could interact together. In my dream, he came to see me because he knew how badly I needed him at that moment and he wanted me to know that he was okay and I was okay and that he was still around in some way.

I petted him and smelled his fur and rested my head on his belly and held him, and he purred and cuddled with me. It was so realistic, kid, that when I woke up I was even more sad. I woke up crying and haven't really been able to stop all day.

Here's the thing, though. When O was alive, he was a funny cat. He was so sweet and loved to sit in your lap, but he was also moody and prone to attacking you if he didn't get his way. We sometimes jokingly called him our mean kitty. If you put your face in his belly, you ran the risk of him latching on to your head with his claws. In my dream, I knew that he wouldn't try to claw me or nip at me or anything. I knew that I could totally invade his space without repercussions because he knew I needed to so badly and he was willing to let me.

It's so hard to explain something as abstract as a dream to someone else. I'm trying to convey the heartbreak and the beauty of that dream and failing so miserably. Instead, I'm making it seem like O was not a nice cat. Believe me, kid, he was. He was such a sweet cat, and I miss him so, so very much.

Last night I got to see his pretty fur again and feel how soft he was under my fingers, and smell his slightly dusty, warm scent, and feel the weight of him in my lap. And in my dream I knew that he was visiting me because I am having such a hard time in the real world, and he knew I needed something. Some comfort or some way to say goodbye, maybe? Or maybe he was just letting me know that he wasn't really gone, so I didn't need to feel so desolate about not having him around any more.

The weirdest part about this is that I don't believe in it. I don't believe in an afterlife or a god or any of that. I do believe that there is a great cycle to life, that energy and matter are two halves of a single whole. And I guess I feel like when someone dies their energy returns to the whole. But I feel it in a more concrete way than in a flighty, tarot-cards kind of way. I just mean that I think when you die, your body decays and the elements that made you go into worms or bugs or plants which in turn grow and then die. And in a larger sense, all of the elements in our bodies were made in stars billions of years ago, and billions of years from now all of the elements in our bodies will be recycled back in to the universe for some other purpose.

I guess my entire spiritual philosophy boils down to a great cosmic upcycle.

So really, I'm dreaming about O because my brain created some kind of comforting scenario for me in my subconscious because my waking mind is in such turmoil. Which makes the whole thing even more sad. Because I can't even suspend disbelief long enough to imagine that O really was visiting me.

Your grandfather-to-be (I'm thinking we're gonna go with Grambo for him...) begged me not to have O neutered when he was a kitten. O had such beautiful fur and your Grambo thought we should let him father a litter of kittens. I didn't listen for several reasons. First, there are way too many homeless kittens out there. Second, where were we going to find a female cat to mother the kittens? Third, what on earth were we going to do with an extra cat (that would have made seven total if we found O a mate) and a litter of kittens? I would never have been able to part with them. But now that he's gone, I find myself wishing that we had some small part of him left on this earth to love, like a kitten with his DNA. The only thing we have now are memories. He was one of a kind, kid, and it seems such a poor way to pay homage.

It seems pretty clear that I am slipping further and further into a fairly serious depression, and I have no idea how to pull out of it. I could go talk to someone about it, but I really don't want to. I keep thinking that I can wait it out, that grief takes time, but then I get impatient. How long is it supposed to take? Shouldn't I be feeling better at this point??

There are some bright spots, lest you think my entire life is falling apart. Well, it is, actually, but there are still some points of light. Your Dad is a big one. The other kitties are, too. They seem to know I'm struggling and have been going out of their way to comfort me. As I was sobbing earlier today, Z jumped into my lap and purred and pushed her face into my hand for pets. And head-butted my chin. Just to let me know she loved me. E curls up next to my stomach almost every night - something she never did before. D has been meowing a lot. It doesn't sound like much, but she never meows so when she does it's like a special occasion. Plus, her meows are adorable and always bring a smile to my face. K has been cuddling up on my feet every night, and climbing in to my lap if I sit still long enough on the couch. And T has been bringing me his toy mouse every day as I sit at my computer doing work. Letting me know he's thinking about making me happy. By killing a crocheted mouse... What can I say? He's a kitty.

I love you, kiddo.
Mama

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