I awoke early—it was Saturday—the second one in March, in anticipation of a spring-like day. With the weather report crisp and a “to do list” a mile long, a whole glorious day planned in the garden to quench the cabin fever of a relentless winter.
There was something in the air.
Still under warm covers, I opened my eyes to the world through my I-Pad. A Word Press notification introduced me to a wonderful story by a writer in Australia, Deb Hunt, a blog titled Snap Decision about gardening and loss of her Mum. Something I know all to well.
Next I perused GRATITUDE—which so inspired me. Gratitude from down under.
I hit the Reblog button and posted this immediately on EntwinedLife and commented:
”A beautiful story, whether planting your own garden of dreams or rebuilding an Entwined Life… I am grateful to Deb Hunt halfway around the planet. This came across my screen at the right time, at the right place.
With trowel in hand, tapping down gingerly plant roots or seeds in soil, I let these words pass my lips, “Grow well and Prosper!”
Then my thoughts flash to Captain Kirk (a “Trekkie”I, am not) and I feel a soulful grin as the vibrations are sent—intentions in motion.
“Grow well and Prosper!” Deb Hunt”
Signed: Jayme B – on the cusp of spring in Piedmont of North Carolina
Now to begin my Day!
Feeling light as the spring air, I sprang down the first flight of stairs grateful and renewed. Before rounding the landing for my first cup of joe—I heard a strange scratching sound from the lower landing.
As I rounded the corner I could see Luna the cat trying to drag herself from the dog bed to her new favorite cardboard box across the hallway. The stiffening of her body into an unnatural arch, the wild look in her usual Zen-filled eyes. Legs that had bounded through the garden just yesterday, were now useless as they twitched spasmodically while she tried to grasp at the nails on wood floor, trying to drag her self. Luna was having a stroke.
Carefully lifting her into my arms, I kept thinking about what a wonderful fine, fine specimen of a cat Luna was prior to the last few months of decline, now wasting away to a feather. I was grateful that for most of her life she was “no trouble at all.” As I spoke “our private words” kitty to human in the nurturing, hushed tones, she always seemed to understand, I moved her back to the soft dog bed she shared with our dog, to engulf her in his scent—the scent of Black Magic, the wonder Lab mix. Then gently moving the bed into the warmth of light steaming through the living room window.
Now her soft pads under the dark grey paws with white toes; the right one with a white moon shaped crescent on the tip from where the name Luna seemed fitting oh so long ago, were cool to the touch as I now massaged them, like we had done, another one of our rituals, for almost two decades.
Covering her with a lovely white scalloped edged towel, which had been my Mom’s. Tiny polka-a-dots embroidered, it was the first one I could grab, but thought Mom would have loved this exquisite comfort to sweet Luna, who’d jump up on her lap as soon as she arrived for a visit.
As my husband sat on the floor to hold vigil, I stepped to the kitchen to finally have that cup o joe, and give them a moment alone.
Waiting for the water to brew, I noticed what looked like the last of the frost melting and wonderful light hitting the fallen leaves, yet to be raked.
As I ladled a little cream into my coffee my attention was again drawn to the window and it looked like steam was rising from the earth reaching from way down under. Was it the warmth from the other side of the world breathing new life into the garden through the sadness that was now settling in?
Be grateful, be hopeful, and just be in this magical moment as I once again kneeled on the floor where life dangled on a thread, tears welling and flooding my cheeks.
Here in the cusp of spring, on a wooded plot of land after a long winter. Toads were emerging from hiding, bulbs poked up their flowered gifts, a lush canyon of pine trees being encroached by urban sprawl in Wake Forest, North Carolina, United States of America. I held vigil.
Debs words written on the cusp of fall—a half a world away, in a town called Broken Hill described as an isolated mining city in the far west of outback, New South Wales, Australia— filled me with gratitude, strength and hope to get me through those last three hours of Luna’s life.
And then Luna’s light went out. To be gently wrapped in my Mother’s luxurious towel to be lowered into our pet cemetery not far from where I’d just seen the miraculous steam rising to signal warmth and hope and another world below.
One never knows when we put the love of words out into the blogisphere, if anyone will read them. And if they do, how they may touch someone—at the right moment, at the right time.
I am grateful for Deb’s words of gratitude whispered through the web on this unexpected day.
Though Deb describes herself as shy, with an inner voice that for decades would pull her from gratitude and love.
I see her as a natural beauty with a voice as light as a petal, a lovely soft British lilt— now filled with possibility once a risk freed her.
Now she reaches for the light like the climbing Hydrangea she has been inspired to root from others in the Blogging Community. Her pen digs as deep as her gardening spade—nourishing self and others that stumble across her Strawberries in the Desert. As always Grateful.
Jayme I am humbled by this beautiful post and saddened for you on the loss of your treasured Luna. The love we feel for animals comes from such a nurturing spot – if we can love creatures who are supposedly ‘further down the food chain’ than we humans then I believe there is hope for humanity. And isn’t it strange how the gifts we need arrive at the right time? I’m experiencing the melancholy aftermath of completing a major project, and this post warmed my heart. Blessings on you from this far distant spot!
It’s morning here, a garden to tend, a hand to lend… Grateful.
Glad to hear from you Deb.
On the cusp of summer, hot & humid here!
It is odd how the rhythm of melancholy plays a part of the process after giving birth to a project. I no longer even question it! I now make space for it, breathe through it… If it lasts more than a few days I reach for 5-HTP… A precursor to seratonin. Just one. Perhaps a visit to the acupuncturist.
Creating & caring the highs & lows take their tolls as doing a biathlon. We pour out heart and soul-riding the high of release, then the accolades and others needing a piece of you. As waves of time move on & people move on the phone stops ringing and time to rest and rebuild for whatever May come. Grateful that it did come. Hopeful it will come again – purpose, inspiration, art of living… It will come again and you will be ready!
What is Winter like where you’ve moved?
Thank you for writing… And giving me strength when I needed it most!
And now it’s my turn to thank you Jayme, you’re so right about that rhythm of melancholy, and how we need time to renew before we can create again. And yes, it will come! Best wishes to you