I've been staring at the screen for almost 10 minutes, trying to figure out a way to write about this without crying. It's not possible.
Emerson passed away the evening of January 24th.
When I woke up that morning, I knew that he wasn't going to make it to the next day. His eyes were different...spacey, not very aware. I brought him into the living room with me, and cuddled with him for a little while. At one point, he got up and jumped off the the chair. He wasn't able to walk, and ended up flopping down on the floor, in a space where the sun was shining.
He spent most of the day lying on the floor in the bathroom, staring into space. He did come out to the kitchen a few times to try and eat a little, and each time I found myself hoping I'd have one more day with him. I stayed in the bathroom with him, lying down on the floor next to him. I covered us up with a blanket, and just talked to him. Even though he didn't seem too aware, he did purr, and occasionally put his paw on my hand or arm.
Chad and I were supposed to go to a Burns Supper that night, but I decided to stay home with Emerson. Soon after Chad left, I decided to take a bubble bath and read. That way, I could keep an eye on Emerson but still give him some space. Around 9pm, I noticed that he was gasping for air. I got out of the tub, not even bothering to dry off, and sat by him. He continued to gasp for air, and his whiskers and legs began to twitch. A few minutes later, he took his last breath.
I've known for months that the end was coming. I'd spent the past several weeks spending as much time with him as possible, saying goodbye to him every night in case he died during the night. Emerson knew that he was loved, and I know that he loved me. Knowing all of that, though, didn't make the end any easier. It breaks my heart that the last thing he heard was his mother sobbing.
I'd decided long ago to have him cremated, and since he passed away on a weekend, I had to keep his body cold until I could take him to the vet's office. Putting him a box and petting him one final time was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do. I couldn't bring myself to close the box. I realize that what was left was just a shell of a body. But that body, that fur, those eyes, had brought such joy and comfort to me. How could I say goodbye? I had to force myself to close the box, tape it up, and put it in the garage.
I have to keep busy, otherwise I think about him and just cry. Even though I have three other cats to love, and who love me, it's not the same. He was such an integral part of my life, that almost everything I do reminds me of him, or reminds me that he's gone.
I miss him.
On May 1, 1998, I was wandering around Stockertown, PA, looking for a yard sale. I was on a back road, lost, when I came around a corner to find a car stopped in the middle of the road. A woman was standing by the open passenger side door, looking distressed. I stopped, and got out of the car to see if I could help. She told me that a cat was stuck under her car. I bent down, and saw a white cat, crouched underneath the car. I called him, and he came right to me. When I picked him up, he put his arms around me as if he were hugging me. The woman got in her car, and left.
The cat was pure white, wasn't dirty, so I didn't think he was a stray. Otherwise, he would have been dirty and thin. To this day, I believe that he belonged to that woman, and she was getting rid of her cat. He was friendly, so I put him in the backseat of my car, took him home, and named him Emerson Stuart Bacon. He quickly became the love of my life.
Emerson is dying. I found out in October that he has lymphoma. Because of his age (estimated to be 14 or 15 years old), I decided not to go through with surgery to remove the tumor in his spleen, and not to go through with radiation treatments. The vet said that he may not have survived the surgery, and the trips for the radiation treatment may have stressed him out too much. So, I decided to just enjoy whatever time I had left with him.
For the past several months, he's steadily lost weight, and spends most of his time sleeping. But he still had a good appetite, purred, still loved to cuddle, and seemed ok. The past few days, though, he's been having diarrhea. Yesterday, he had it in the dining room.
I know that soon, I'll have to make a very difficult decision. I don't want him to suffer. But I honestly don't know how I'm going to be able to say goodbye. It absolutely breaks my heart. I don't think I can do it.
Our furnace died over the weekend. It's been dying over the past few weeks, but we (I) didn't have time to call a repairperson to come and fix it. But it died a final death Saturday afternoon. We didn't want to bother anyone on a weekend, so we just bundled up and endured the coldness. It's around 50 degrees in the house, and it was down to 12 degrees outside last night. It's cold.
I left two messages for a repair person this morning, but no one has called me back yet. Hmpf.
I'm officially on winter break now, but I still have to grade finals and papers today. Grades must be posted by tonight. We used to have until after the new year, but they changed that this year. Hmpf.
Once I'm finished grading, I don't think I'll know what to do with myself. The past several months have been filled with prepping and grading...no free time at all. I have a huge stack of books that I want to make my way through. I'm also picking up some side work for an insurance broker, filling in for his assistant who's on maternity leave. Thankfully, that's just a few hours a week, and I can work from home.
The furnace people just called. I guess I should make the house look presentable!
I have the day off today. I wasn't supposed to. A colleague and I were supposed to go to a workshop today, so I cancelled my classes at one college. Last night, they cancelled the workshop because of snow. I'm disappointed about that, but...I have a day off. Free time! And I have no idea what to do with myself!
I'm teaching 8 classes this semester (6 at one school, 2 at another). It is insane. Really. I have no time to do anything anymore. I teach back to back classes Monday through Thursday, 8am-5pm. Fridays are an "easy" day, with classes from 8:30-11:10. I am exhausted. They're all writing/literature classes, so I've been up late every night grading papers and commenting on drafts. It's too much. I'm looking forward to next semester, when I'll only have 4 classes at one college.
I haven't been reading anything aside from student papers, which is...depressing. I just don't have the time. I did place a rather large order a few weeks ago -- the new Stephen King, new Toni Morrison, and new Sarah Vowell.
Mary Karr came to campus for a reading last week. She taught a master class in the afternoon, discussing a writer's obligation to their audience. Then, I had the honor of going out to dinner with her with other folks from the department. She is an amazing woman. Completely unapologetic, not afraid to say exactly what she wants. She gave a fantastic reading that night, reading from Cherry, and her most recent book of poetry.
I think I might take a nap now. I haven't had a nap in months!
I know, I know. It's been awhile. And every time I write, I say that I'm going to post more frequently...but it never happens.
Why?
Well. I was going to say that I'm busy (teaching 6 classes), but everyone is busy. I was also going to say that I haven't been feeling well lately, but that's no excuse.
Okay, so I have no excuse.
This semester has been a busy one, and there are moments when I can't wait until December 18th when it will all be over. But that's over two months away, so for now I'm just keeping my head down and doing what I have to do.
I did manage to find time to have some fun last weekend at the Dodge Poetry Festival. I met Lucille Clifton, whom I want to adopt as my grandmother. I also met Chris Abani, whose poetry blew me away, and Sharon Olds, who read a series of new poems inspired by Neruda's Odes. My favorite was "Ode to the Douchebag."
20 minutes later...
I just met with a student, and now I only have 15 minutes before my next class. So...until next time.
I should probably avoid writing when very tired. I'm yawning every minute or so, my eyes are watery and barely open, and I could fall asleep in, oh, about a second. But here I am. Because apparently I have something to say.
It's only the 5th day of the semester, and already I'm bone tired, ready for it all to be over. Don't get me wrong, I love every second (mostly) of my job. But I am tired.
I'm also a bit frustrated that I'm not reading anything of interest right now. Nothing has really struck my fancy in months, it seems. I'm re-reading The Reader, which I loved when I read it years ago, but it's boring me this time around. I don't know if it's because I'm so tired, or what. But it's getting really annoying.
A friend and I are thinking about starting a face-to-face book club, which is exciting. I have to admit, I miss taking literature classes. I miss sitting around with a bunch of folks, dissecting literature. I mean, I still do it to some extent in my classes, but it's not the same. I try not to offer my own thoughts/opinions so that the students are encouraged to think for themselves. Hopefully, the book club will be a good outlet for me. I've already started making a list of potential books (at the top, A Prayer for Owen Meany, which I love).
One thing I'm very excited about is the upcoming Dodge Poetry Festival. Any poetry lovers who are in the NJ/NY/PA area must go. I'm super excited about Lucille Clifton, Charles Simic, Sharon Olds, Billy Collins, and my colleague BJ Ward. Check out the website -- there are many more fantastic poets that I haven't listed here.
Classes start tomorrow. I'm already overwhelmed. More on that later.
OK. I'm not pregnant, and probably won't be any time soon, but I know what I want to name my first son. Forget the family name I had picked out forever (Charlie Bennett). I'm going with the best, most super cool baby name (for a boy. Or a girl, if that's how you roll).
Leroy.
Yes, Leroy.
Yes, I'm serious. In other news, I've had "Kiss Me Deadly" by Lita Ford stuck in my head FOR DAYS.
