The Hardest Goodbyes

Brian's cousin had to make the hardest of pet-person decisions yesterday. She said goodbye to her sweet, affectionate cat boy, Mogget. As I chatted with her the day prior and then again yesterday afternoon, after that last trip to the vet, memories of my final days with Waldo came flooding back to me. I was so fortunate to be able to have a mobile veterinarian - my friend from college, no less - come to our home so I could say goodbye here. That happened in April of 2009.

There is no escape from grief when you are under quarantine. There are no funerals, either. No gatherings to share stories, to laugh or cry, to hug. How are folks who've lost family members and close friends coping with these limitations? When will all of the memorials be allowed to take place? Will they ever take place? Or will folks just do their own small tributes and then move on?

Aunt Mary remains in the rehab center, not getting worse, but not making noticeable strides to get better either. My cousins find it excruciating to not be there with her, even though they have been receiving regular communication from the doctor (whose own 90 year old mother is experiencing similar symptoms) along with assurances of compassionate care from the nurses and CNAs. These could well be Aunt Mary's final days. We just don't know yet. But I remember how long it took Mom to fight through sepsis a couple of Augusts and Septembers ago. They have the same tough fiber, these two. So I am hopeful that Aunt Mary will pull through this.

Meanwhile, the sun is now shining for the first time in a week, and I must head outside to clean the lower gutters and mow the neighbor’s yard.