Life’s Mysteries

I haven’t written here in a while, mostly because I didn’t have anything to say. And then a cascade of life-altering events has brought me back to writing again.

Last month, my sister-in-law, Linda, and I were scheduled to go back to our hometown of Cincinnati to visit her 91-year-old mom, Bobbie, and my “adopted” parents, Pat and Norbert. A week before our trip, Linda’s mom fell, broke her hip, and ended up in the intensive care unit on life support, following surgery. Bobbie died five days later, when it was determined that she couldn’t survive off the ventilator. I saw her death as a merciful blessing, and in sharp contrast to my mom who was on critical care for the last nine months of her life.

Just as Linda began the process of tending to her mom’s affairs and planning her funeral, Norbert suddenly ended up in the hospital with a slew of problems. I saw him the day I left Cincinnati following Bobbie’s services. He didn’t look good, but I had hopes that he’d be well enough soon to go to a rehab facility which would enable him to return home with Pat. (As of today’s writing, Norbert is indeed out of the hospital and in a rehabilitation facility.)

Both Norbert and Bobbie have been teetering on their ability to live independently at home. One of the purposes of the trip with Linda was to have some honest conversations with her mom about her living situation. The concerns were taken out of Linda’s hands with her mother’s death.

Meanwhile, back at home, we’d been nursing our very sick cat, Milo. He became suddenly ill about the time that Bobbie ended up in the hospital. After an extensive visit to the vet, we were faced with the decision of euthanizing Milo or bringing him home with supportive and comforting medicines, essentially kitty hospice. We opted for the latter, especially because he had been so “normal” days earlier, and we couldn’t stand the thought of saying goodbye to Hannah’s cat, her last living pet.

When I left for the funeral in Cincinnati, I said goodbye to Milo, believing that I’d never see him again. A week later, he began slowly recovering from whatever was ailing him. I started calling him the Hanukkah cat, as he looked like he would only live a day, and has now lived past two weeks. And then he became known as the Christmas miracle. Whatever’s going on with Milo, I’m grateful for this bonus time with him and relieved he doesn’t appear to be suffering.

In more bad news, we just learned that a friend was recently diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor. Hesitating to tell us, given our history with Hannah, we were soon brought into their nightmarish, unknown future.

In the midst of such sadness, people have stepped up with so much kindness. In Cincinnati, Linda’s longtime friends opened their homes and their hearts with such generosity – places to stay, cars to drive, food and drink to nourish our souls, live music to lift our spirits, endless hugs and laughter. Gratitude going hand in hand with grief.

Back home, caring vets continued to check in on Milo, offering whatever supportive care that was available. From the start, I didn’t hesitate to tell the treatment provider about our special bond with her pet. I’m sure they would extend the same care to everyone, but it’s been important to me that they know of Milo’s connection to Hannah.

And a few days ago, in some miraculous twist of fate, it appears Milo is going to live! We took him back to the vet for follow up bloodwork and an exam. He had gained a fair amount of weight and his bloodwork was essentially normal, other than some hyperthyroidism which is treatable. The underlying diagnosis was presumed to be cancer, but today, the vet reported that his results could be evidence of a miracle!

I’m so relieved and so astonished that Milo’s taken this turn, giving us more time with him. All that I can think is: Hannah decided she could wait a while longer for him; She heard our pleas of, “Not Yet!”; and Thank God we didn’t opt to euthanize him three weeks ago when he was deathly ill!

Once again, the above events have made me acutely aware of the fragility of life. So much is out of our control, out of our ability to see what’s coming. All we can do is embrace the present and be thankful for the beloved people and pets in our lives.

And I’m reminded me of the importance of showing up for people, and not just when there’s a crisis. Make the coffee date, take the walk, get on the plane, visit those in need, help friends when you’re the stronger one, send the thank you note, pick up the phone, make the hot dish, open the good wine, give the hug, say, “I love you”, celebrate the miracles, big and small.

As the new year begins, none of us know how long we have.