Anyone who has been around this blog through the years knows this. My love for them is beyond reason, sanity, beyond description. There is nothing I would not do for them, no mountain I would not climb, no valley I would not cross, no river too wide, Marvin. They are the air I breathe.
Through the years I have watched as they faced struggles, heartbreaks, abuses, and unexpected challenges. When I could, I tempered the pain, I fought for them, I faced down foes, and stood firmly behind them when they had to face them themselves. It's what a parent does.
But when you cannot get between them and an emotional freight train; when you see what is coming and cannot stop it; when you would literally take a bullet to save them, but are faced with the horror of simply watching the pain come to pass - well, it is the absolute worst part of being a parent.
Roughly a month ago, I watched as our oldest daughter fell in love with a tiny kitten only to have him wrenched away by death three weeks later. All the love in my heart could not protect hers. All the words I could construct could not soften the blow, dull the pain, the shock. And then when they adopted another tiny urchin two weeks ago, hearts lifted only to be caught once again in a vice as she was taken back to the shelter with a life threatening virus. For those four days, I lived for each update, each photo as they visited her daily. My mantra to my husband was "She has to be ok. I cannot watch Culley's heart break again."
Fate deemed I would not have to. Sophie is back home and thriving, being loved beyond measure, reason, sanity.
Today I sit here feeling the weight of failure again, however, as our middle daughter is states away from the reach of my arms, waiting for the vet to come to her home.
Lola, one of our cats - in truth though, ALWAYS Kendall's cat - has made many appearances at this blog through the years. She was our first foray into cat adoption. A beautiful handful of shiny gray fur and immense green eyes, Lola set the stage for the four cats who would enter our lives behind her. They say a cat chooses their person - I saw that first with Lola. While she was adored and loved by all of us, she gravitated to Kendall from the beginning - two peas in a pod.
For over thirteen years, she has been with Kendall - even when college separated them for months, Lola waited patiently for holidays, vacation time when Kendall would reappear and all would be right in her world, and Kendall's. Two personalities so very particular about so very many things - they simply "got" each other.
When Ken graduated from college and got her first job, Lola moved to Dallas to be with her. When Harvard came calling, Lola entered the highest levels of academia with Kendall, making the trip to Boston and earning that MPH alongside Ken. She then endured the three day drive to head back to Dallas to begin pursuing a doctorate with her.
Lola's life has not been easy. The perfectly tiny kitten grew, and grew, and grew into a gorgeous cat whose frame was never meant to carry what her hormones insisted it must. With each passing year her joints bore the brunt, her hips carrying her forward despite the struggle. She lived for Kendall, she took care of Kendall. When COVID and quarantine entered the picture, Lola was Ken's constant companion through the lonely months of isolation in Boston.
I know that part of the animal caring for the human may sound odd to anyone who has not welcomed a pet into their life. Point of fact, I used to be one of those people. "It's just a cat or it's just a dog" would be my thought when people spoke of their pets as people, or mourned them so hard when death eventually came. Then we got Oreo, our Pomeranian. And then Lola. And Nugget, and Bebin and Rocky and Leo.
With Oreo I finally got it. She was not just a pet. She was family. She lived for our every move, she nursed us when we were not well. If one of us was down or sick, she knew and sat vigil beside us. And when she grew ill beyond the reach of medicine and surgery, when I looked into her eyes and saw it was time - I finally, completely understood the pain of saying goodbye to what others merely write off as "a pet."
Holding her as the drugs entered her system and she fell to sleep forever stands as one of the worst days in my life. It was also one of the most beautiful. On that day, the love that had kept her alive, nurtured her, played with her, sustained her, was also the love that stepped forward to help her as only it could.
My heart broke in pieces as Toby and I Facetimed Culley and Kendall and Rudy to allow them to say their goodbyes to the first pet they ever had, the best friend they knew. I could not protect them from that pain. The only way out, as they say, was through.
Kendall stands at that juncture today with Lola. In hours, the vet will come to Kendall's apartment and she will have to be stronger than she has ever been in her life. I cannot adequately explain what Lola has been to my daughter, the pain that consumes her every breath as she sits with Lola right now, brushing her, talking to her, offering her her most favorite thing in the world - whipped cream.
As her parent, my heart is shattering because I cannot get in between her and this torment. It is not a foe I can stand up to and face down for her. I cannot make it not happen. And in my world, where being a parent is my biggest accomplishment, where I am their biggest champion and defender, I am failing.
I know, I know logically that is not the case. But the heart does not do logic. The heart only does love, and today, all the love I have for my child simply will not be enough.
I am going to stop rambling now, dry my eyes, and try to stay busy until she calls. Please, if you can, spare a thought for Kendall, for Lola, for Daniel who will be their rock and weather the storm of Kendall's grief. And for this parent's heart that cannot stop the coming train.
I love you. And I'm sorry Lola's time here is through. Holding all of you in my heart today.
Posted by: Veronica | Thursday, December 03, 2020 at 11:45 AM