Eccentric Flower:201009/Lost Things
From Eccentric Flower
«September 2010 «Eccentric Flower
Lost Things
I haven't been sleeping well. I'm having trouble being comfortable at night no matter what sort of tricks I try with the bed.
Last night I couldn't have slept for more than 30-45 minutes at any one stretch. The positions that work for getting to sleep are the ones where some limb falls asleep because I'm lying atop it and eventually wakes me up. Or, when I fell asleep, I'd have a dream and it would be a disturbing one.
Work is getting calm again and there are no real stressors in my day life right now, so I'm either in bad mental shape about something I absolutely have no clue to, or it's the bed or my body.
I got up this morning, wrote work that I was staying home sick, too tired to be able to look directly at the screen. I went back to bed - and then didn't sleep except in short bursts, until around noon I finally gave up.
Somewhere in the middle of that I dreamed of Inu. She was there, but I also knew she was dead, I knew that I was seeing and petting something that was impossible, and I woke up abruptly with wet eyes.
I don't know why, of all the memories of the dead that could possibly come to visit, the one that comes most often is a cat. It's a little embarrassing to admit that. I think it may be because there are so few people in my life who are/were such constant fixtures in my life the way the cat was. I mean, think about this - I see my mother and sister, the two people closest to me by blood, about once a year. I see most of my in-town friends maybe once or twice a month at most. The majority of my friends I never see at all. Inu was there every day. The only person in the world I interact with as often as those cats is my wife. Oh, sure, there's the office, but those are people whom I deliberately keep from having any sort of emotional connection to.
Clearly the correct thing to do, if we extend this line of thought, would be to never develop any sort of high-frequency emotional contacts at all, never let anyone that close, and pass through the world only making occasional, casual contact with it. Then you couldn't get hurt. You would wake up alone, but you would never wake up with the empty pain of loss in your middle, because you would never have anything to lose.
Clearly that is the correct thing to do, but it doesn't sound very tempting, does it?
Every part of me aches today, including the inside of my head.
I still see Leo on occasion (did you ever meet him?). And, of course, I miss Sligo terribly.
Being alone and refusing to make connections doesn't make the pain smaller; it just breeds different pain. Consider that your brain (or your heart) had a message for you, and reminding you of those that you love may have been that message. I take it as a sign of a need to connect, not a sign of a need to disconnect.
-- 20:41, 8 September 2010 (BST)
Are you two sharing a script?
No matter. I tend to agree with you both.
-- 20:45, 8 September 2010 (BST)
Good! Have lunch with me. I haven't been to Wagamama since Lisa brought me the Cooler of Meat, and I'm not concerned with your eternal soul so much as having a delightful lunch companion once in awhile.
-- 20:49, 8 September 2010 (BST)
You can take this as a sign that you need closer connections with other humans, but on the more positive end, I think it's also a sign of just how much you cared for your cat. I've heard people talk about how silly they feel for grieving over a pet, and I've never really understood that. Our pets aren't just home decor. They have distinct personalities, and for those of us who never have kids they can become a kind of surrogate child. (And our pets certainly do nothing to discourage this!) Missing a pet is a perfectly natural thing, and it just speaks to how close you were when they were alive.
-- 23:15, 8 September 2010 (BST)
Ever since I can remember, I've espoused the philosophy that the highs are worth the lows. It applies to everything, and is most likely the basis for my innate optimism. You can't experience the dizzying heights of love without risking the emptiness of the loss of that love. But would I ever forgo those heights to avoid the potential emptiness? Not on your tintype. But I know people who do. They say pessimists are never disappointed. But I don't envy them for all the wonders they are missing.
It hasn't been that long since you lost Inu. You're still feeling the ache. But, in time, I hope you come to appreciate the warm, fuzzy memories and take comfort and satisfaction in having known them. You know from the day you adopt a pet that "the day is coming." Pet lovers also know that the joy is worth it.
-- 14:42, 9 September 2010 (BST)
I get wet eyes just thinking about your dream, because I know what it is to miss my cats.
I forget your opinions on Kipling, but he wrote about this sort of thing a long time ago in The Power Of The Dog. So you're not alone in this sort of feeling and rumination... but we do it anyway because life is richer for it.
-- 16:27, 9 September 2010 (BST)
It's a great dream because it means Inu is still a part of you. I always appreciate dreams involving my parents for that reason.
I understand your point about connection and loss, and I considered the options very carefully before I asked my wife to marry me. I could have gone on as a "confirmed bachelor" just having fun and never letting anyone get closer than being a friend, or I could have a family with the attendant risk of loss. I picked the latter and don't regret it at all, though I admit I have to work at not letting my fears of inevitable loss spoil the joy I have right in front of me.
-- 20:08, 9 September 2010 (BST)
Bunny42, I can't speak for other pessimists, but I can say that this pessimist feels disappointed pretty often. It's sort of like, "Oh, this will be crappy..." And then, "Gosh... That was so, so much more crappy than I thought it would be."
-- 09:33, 10 September 2010 (BST)
Ursula, yikes. I can't even imagine how that must be. There was a time when I figured I was so cavalier about the highs and lows because I'd never really experienced the ultra-lows. Then my husband died, and I had to revise that. But, even then, I saw how lucky he had been not to have suffered, and to have been happy in his life and his work. I, of course, was devastated, but I came to see that he had gone on to bigger and better things (or not *shrug*) and that I had to get on with my own life. My experience has been to anticipate the worst, and chances are whatever transpires won't be nearly as bad as I'd thought. I don't know why it's different for me than it is for you, but it's consistent enough that I've come to depend upon it.
-- 22:09, 10 September 2010 (BST)
Patrick:
I honestly believe that pets are here in part to teach us about death. With the exceptions of parrots, pets are meant to outlive us, and as such, they teach us about loss. Life is nothing without death, and happiness is nothing without sadness.
So why does Inu visit you? Possibly it's your brain telling you that it needs a bit more connection than the limited amount you allow yourself.
-- 20:37, 8 September 2010 (BST)