The memorial service for tamnonlinear was last week. It was incredibly helpful, in some ways. I'm grateful her family hed one; they weren't sure at first that they would. There was a slideshow of photos of Tam, for which I'm grateful since I have only a couple of pictures of her. (Tam hated being photographed. Since I don't like to be either, it wasn't something I pushed. I have far more pictures of her cats than I do of her.) I met some of Tam's other friends and fellow volunteers, which was good. Just seeing a fraction of the lives Tam touched was helpful. She would have hated the memorial itself, I think, but I think perhaps these sorts of things are for the people left behind.

I've been thinking a lot about what there is besides the now. I know that Abby did not believe in more than this life, which makes my grief more painful, in a way. I hope that there's more beyond this. I believe that there is. I want to believe that we'll see our loved ones again, that I'll see Abby again. To know that she didn't believe that takes away some of my dealing-with-grief strategy.

(I'm having trouble with words today.)

Abby is the person who persuaded me to listen to Hamilton. I'd heard of it elsewhere and planned to get around to listening to it at some point, but Abby was the person who actively talked about it with me and persuaded me. Her glee and enjoyment of the minutae-- historical and musical and dramatic-- was addicctive. For the last year, I listened to Hamilton nearly constantly.

I've barely been able to listen to it since Abby's death. I've made six ten-hour drives in the past month. Previously, Hamilton was my go-to driving music. Now I've managed to listen to it once, over the span of two of those drives. Too much of it its too close to home. Individual lines stick out in ways that they hadn't before, and I'll think about Abby and just burst into tears. (See the subject line, for example.)

It's not just Hamilton of course. I'll look out at my garden and remember planting the spring bulbs while on the phone with Abby. I'll post something online and catch sight of the user icon for this post ("silly gosling") which Abby made for me. (I don't remember entirely why-- and that hurts. It had to do with being like a silly goose but not as bad.) The keys to her house are still on my key ring.

I'm functioning now. I'm tending to cry only once or twice a day instead of constantly. But part of me doesn't want to be happy, not really. I'll catch myself smiling and just feel awful because of it. My friend is gone, the world is worse because of this, and being happy feels like a betrayal of that and of her.

I looked up to Abby. I'm an only child, so I don't have the ingrained feeling for the word 'sister' that most people do, but I don't think I'm stretching things too much to say that I thought of her like an older sister. (I don't say that to lessen her relationship with her actual siblings.) This loss has flattened me in ways that I can't really express. I miss her so much.

I'm not making much sense.

Let me just finish by writing an update on Abby's cats. Kala and Caliel are doing well in their new home, according to Abby's SIL. Kala has become outgoing and well-adjusted. Caliel has claimed a room to himself and is relatively reclusive but seems happy.

Jaimie and Jasper were with me for about 10 days. They were a true comfort because they're lapcats and sweethearts.  They've since been delivered to their new home with pyrite and are doing really well. They both sit in her lap (at the same time!) and have gotten a pretty clean bill of health from their first vet visit. They'll need a dental cleaning soon, and fingers crossed that there aren't any surprises there, but so far so good.

And that leaves me with Jessie and Mia. There's no real change there. They're terrified of me and everything else. But they're eating well and I can hear them out of hiding when I'm not in the room. I tried to move them to the guest room (so that they'd have more space and I'd be more comfortable when hanging out with them) but that went ... incredibly badly. I scared those cats so badly (unintentionally) that I was sobbing and felt like I'd let Abby down. (I was also crying due to the scratches in my arms...)  So the two continue to live in my home library. I'm about to leave town for a couple weeks, and I feel guilty about that. A good friend will be checking on Mia and Jessie every day, though. (I'm taking my other three cats with me.) When I get back, I'm going to make a kind of schedule, wherein I hang out with Jessie and Mia, even though they'll avoid me, for at least an hour a day. I don't know when they'll be ready to be part of the bigger household, but they'll always be safe, at least.

I'm still here.

This is both a defiant proclamation (that I've come through what I assume/hope is the worst of the grief and its attendant depression) and a comment that has a bit of defeatism in it, when the 'here' in question is eastern Kentucky, unsuccessful, lonely, and still feeling helpless about both my own life and that of the world around me.

tamnonlinear is in my thoughts all the time-- because I miss her, because I mourn her, becuase I have cat questions, and because as much as I love her, I now fear becoming her.

How selfish is that? To mix up my grief over her death with identification with her situation. I don't mean to claim her experience for my own-- there are many differences, she is a different person. But I looked up to her, I admired her, I modeled some of my experiences on hers, so there are similarities. And to say "I won't walk that path" doesn't feel strong; it feels like a betrayal of her somehow.

Her memorial is Saturday. I'm driving up Friday, since it's a 9 hour drive. In the strangest bout of synchronicity, my parents had already planned to be in the area where the memorial is being held during that weekend. So they've gotten me a hotel room for Friday night and on Saturday, after the service, I'll drive up to my parents' house, about 90 minutes away, 'til Monday (when I'll come back here to finish the exam period of the semester, then drive back up for the holidays.) My parents will be there for a concert and they are also going to Longwood Gardens. They invited me along, but I declined. I've never been, but I equate them with Abby, and when I go for the first time, I want to be able to think about her and not be inundated by the Christmas decorations that are up this time of year. (Looking at you, sihaya09)

It's only been a month. There had been times in our friendship when we'd gone longer than that without contact, so on a logical basis it almost seems like it shouldn't matter, but of course there is nothing logical about any of this. Her loss is an enormous hole in my life. Sometimes I find myself smiling or having an okay time, and then I'll suddenly remember that Abby's gone and it feels like someone has kicked me in the stomach. (I'm writing this in my office, which is stupid because it's office hours so students might walk in and I'm sititng here weeping.) It feels like a betrayal to be happy. I don't want to be happy again, in some very real way, because that somehow means I've gotten over it.

I know that my grief and depression have upset other people. I've got my parents worried. I've heard through the grapevine that several colleagues are just avoiding me at work because they don't know what to do about my obvious sadness. (Don't get me wrong-- people at work have also been excellent and very willing to cover my classes and exams.) I work at a religiously affilated institution in the bible belt, so we start meetings with a prayer-- at Thursday's faculty meeting, I just started weeping. I don't know why but every time someone prays around me right now, I cry. I'm not very religious, so I don't know what's up with this.

I don't know that I want to be sad, but in a real way, I also don't want to be happy. Which I'm sure is a problem and I'll bring it up with my therapist... except that she already seems to not know what to do with with me and we've only had three sessions. Under different circumstances (i.e. not eastern Kentucky) I'd find a different therapist, but that's pretty much not an option here. Mental health services are few and far between...  All services are few and far between. For example, I tried to find a suicide loss support group-- nearest one is in WV, 2 hours away.

One consolation is that Abby's cats are safe. Kala and Caliel are doing very well in their new home, although their personalities have changed. Caliel has chosen a room for himself and rarely leaves it, though he is friendly when humans join him. Kala has become outgoing and attention seeking. So all is well there. Jasper and Jaimie are, until tomorrow, in my guest room. They are doing super well. They are delightful and cuddly and seem pretty happy. They're little old lady cats now, which is weird since I always think of them as youngsters, but that doesn't mean they're less mischevious, as least Jasper. I slept in their room last night and was frequently woken up by demands for attention. They're a little shyer and act a little older than Callie (who is their elder by a few months) but they're delightful. I'm really sad to give them up, but since it's to pyrite, I know I'll get lots of updates. And anyway, 7 cats is too many, and it's been really hard splitting my attention amongst them.

(When I remember/figure out how to post pictures to LJ, I'll do so of the kitties.)

That brings me to Jessie and Mia who have been in my home office for a little over three weeks now. I always know where they are because when I come to the door, they hide in the same places they always do. Well, Mia hides. I'm not convinced Jessie ever moves from his spot by the window, hiding behind a curtain. He's skinny and I'm really worried about him. I don't know how to convince them that I will not eat them, that I love them and want them to be happy and comfortable. They were barely comfortable with Abby and only ever on their own terms, and I'm pretty much a stranger.

I've put blankets and pillows in the office so that I have some place to sit comfortably and read, since I can't actually interact with Jessie and Mia. Today they'd been pushed against the door-- so clearly at least one of the cats gets up to something when I'm not there... and potentially they're trying to barricade the door so I can't come in. (Don't they understand I bring the food?!)

So there is a lot of work to be done there... and by work I mainly mean patience and making sure I spend all the time I can with them. (But without upsetting the other three cats. Mr. Marlowe gets sulky without me. If I go away for a few days, he scratches his back raw. When I'm with Jessie and Mia or Jasper and Jaimie, he sits outside the door and cries.)

And this would be why I don't get to keep Jasper and Jaimie.

I tell myself that it will be amazing and an achievement when Jessie and Mia trust me. But I also remember Abby, who was so much better at this than I am, felt the same way about Orpheus, and he never quite got comfortable enough with her to be in her lap. These two are already 12 and their world has been upended. I want to give them everything I can to make them happy, for their own sakes and for Abby's, but there's so little I can do, in real terms...

I think this is enough for now. I have to teach soon and need to stop being all weepy before then. (It's the last day of classes. I can do this.) Tomorrow I drive to Knoxville with the Js (I will be weepy then, too.) Friday I drive to PA for the memorial. I'm going to stay at my parents' house through Sunday so I can go to a church service for people who are grieving during the holidays. I envision a lot more crying in the next few days.