Tag Archives: grief

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Simon Says Goodbye

Three and a half years ago, my beloved black cat Sammy passed away from kidney failure. He was only three years old himself. The day after his traumatic death, I walked into the Humane Society and said simply, “I need to hold a black cat.”

The women there were very kind and accommodating to this grief-stricken girl and her strange request. Soon after,  I began a years long friendship with them, and the rest of the furry residents of the Kitty Kottage.

A couple months after I began coming by regularly, an adult male black cat was dropped on their porch. The women arrived at work in the morning only to find him in a pet carrier with a note.

“Friendly neighborhood cat. Keep the carrier.”

Whether he was truly just a “neighborhood cat” or not, we’ll never know, but he was christened “Cruiser” by the staff, since he was allegedly found “cruising” around the neighborhood.

Shortly after his arrival, as I sat in their floor playing with some of the kittens, he sauntered in. He sized me up, climbed into my lap, flipped over on his back like a baby, and began to purr.

 “It looks like you’ve been picked!” one of the staff members exclaimed. Indeed, it did.

Every visit would see the same behavior. The staff informed me that as an adult male black cat his chances of being adopted were slim to none. I slowly began to realize  that I needed to take this enchanting creature home. That while he could never replace Sammy, he might be able to help heal the hurt, and the gaping hole left by Sammy’s death.

I brought him home in July of 2013, along with a few other cats, whose story I will tell another day. I renamed him Simon, for the character Simon Birch in the movie of the same name. He was small, but mighty.

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From that day forward, our only separation was when I left the house for work. If I exercised, he walked with me. One of our favorite spots was a grove of trees out front of the house, where he would show off by sprinting up one of the trees and then posing dramatically before jumping down again. If he got tired of walking, I picked him up and carried him.

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When I worked from home, he slept on top of a brown pillow I had out for him. When I showered, he stayed in the bathroom to make sure no boogeymen were there to attack me. He slept next to me, sat in my lap when I watched tv, kept me company when I was sick (which lately, had been often), posed for numerous Instagram photos, always came running when I called him, and when he heard the garage door open, I would walk in to find him waiting for me outside the door.   And if, by some odd chance, he hadn’t heard the garage, I’d find him on my side of the bed, curled up next to my pillow.


His antics were so adorable to me (as any cat lover would say of their own furry child) that I created a hashtag called #SimonSays to more easily access all of his photos and the memories we had created.

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He never judged, never said I looked fat, never called me stupid, never minded my moods, and most important; loved me fiercely and exclusively. Despite his semi-permanent frown, he allowed me to cradle him like a baby, and would purr contentedly.

He was also one of the smartest cats I’ve ever known. His words may have been silent, but we talked all the time, and understood each other perfectly. He healed my heart in ways I couldn’t imagine, and the only thing he deprived me of was more time.

I wanted years and years with him. I wanted more cuddle time, more adventures, more companionship. More of everything. More of him.

I didn’t get it.

Simon was in my life for approximately three years and six months. This morning, Christmas Eve morning, I found him where he loved to be most in the world, just outside our grove of trees. There were no marks on him, no signs of struggle, no blood. Just my sweet, sweet friend lying in the grass.

I still have no idea what happened, but I think I know when it did. I getting ready for the day in my bathroom when I heard a noise of distress that sounded exactly like Simon’s “voice.” It sounded like he was right under my window. I was so alarmed, that I ran and looked outside to make sure he was okay. I didn’t see him.  He was hidden by the hill of grass. I found him about 20 minutes later.

Today was the day Simon says Goodbye. And my heart, while twisted with pain and inconsolable with grief, is so, so grateful that I knew him. Today and tomorrow are supposed to be days filled with family, happiness, love, and joy. Why did I lose my best friend on Christmas Eve? Why him? Why now?

It’s not fair.

But. That’s the one thing Life always promised. Never to be fair. 

And so.

Goodbye, my sweet, feisty, adventurous companion. Thank you for coming into my life at the perfect time, and bringing me such love and joy.  You knew me and chose to love me, and every day you let me know how much.

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I miss you more than I can possibly express.




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A Permanent Perfect View


My Aunt Barb, otherwise known as our fearless leader, has left us much sooner than anticipated, and we, her minions (as she liked to call us) are a bit at a loss. She was supposed to be here for many, many more years, and then a bad headache and several doctors appointments in July told us those years would be six months, and then Monday, those remaining months evaporated into the mist of time.

It doesn’t feel fair. I keep saying, “Wait. Hold on. This isn’t real. I’m going to call her and she’s going to talk about the premiere of “Castle” last night and how good it was, or when our next trip is going to be.” But I’m not. I can’t.

We were going to record her reading a bedtime story to her fifteen month old granddaughter (and lookalike) so she’d know the sound of her voice. I had plans to ask her what her favorite memory from our trips were, from her life. To interview her and give her the chance to leave her story behind. But I’m not. I can’t.

BJ KatelynShe loved reading mystery novels, especially Agatha Christie. She was also our family’s greatest mystery and complexity. She had Doris Day hair, but loved Britney Spears music. She adored sparkly accessories, but wore ballet flats, white pants, a button up shirt, long necklace, and a blazer (in the colder months) nearly every day of her life.

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She loved to socialize and talk, but didn’t like meeting new people. She loved walking, but only in the right temperature. Her humor was dry and her tongue razor sharp. She could be incredibly generous, or incredibly stubborn. She drank gallons of water to be healthy, but loved to smoke.

In short, she liked things the way she liked them. Her pastime of choice was shopping with her daughter, Lauren, and their Black Friday sprees were the organized thing legends are made of.

After my Uncle’s passing, I became her travel companion, and we took dozens of trips to the Jersey Shore. Last year, on this very day, actually, we were expanding our horizons and exploring Biloxi, MS. Her favorite amenity was a hotel room with an ocean view so she could sit there in the morning, drink her hot tea, and admire the scenery. Pity the hotel concierge who denied her that luxury. 😉

Her nails were always long and painted, and her favorite descriptive term was “fabulous.”

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She planned everything, and everything had it’s place. She was Poirot, she was Felix Unger, she was Monk (without the crimesolving). And she was a great big dose of Ousier with a splash of the charming Miss Clairee. She had an opinion on just about everything, and you would, and could, be treated to it at any moment.

She loved flowers, and she loved photography, especially photos of her flowers and her family. After our grandmother, she was our historian, the one who documented trips and the one most often behind the camera. She gave me tips on how to make my photos look more interesting, and she even encouraged my strange hobby of ‘stock photography,’ and bragged about it when we went out on trips.

When a tragedy like a death in the family occurred, she took charge. She was the one to arrange buying the flowers, getting the card, telling us where and what we should do.   Now we have to make the decisions, and with no one to take charge, we’re all adrift. We keep turning around, waiting for her to tell us what to do, and she’s not. She can’t.

She used to bemoan that she wasn’t really someone who had accomplished much, or was worth remembering. I wouldn’t want to be the one to disagree with her normally, but I will now. She was wrong.  We loved her. She was ours. All of her, the good and the bad. She was the kind of person that belongs in one of the novels she loved to read, not real life.
Maybe one day, she will be. She’s the kind of character that is a writer’s dream.

So tonight, I’d like to write her exit scene. Tonight, I like to think she’s in heaven, with a spotless mansion perched high above a long, sandy beach, a cup of hot tea steaming in front of her, and a permanent perfect view of the ocean.

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Say It Now

Every time someone passes away, no matter what the circumstances, there are people left mourning. A celebrity brings joy to millions, and so, that loss is felt by millions. A woman from a small town may not have affected as many on a global scale, but her loss is just as deeply felt by those who loved her.

Earlier this month, Vicky Wise, a beautiful beacon of my community, passed on after a six year battle with cancer. And today, I, along with most of the world, was shocked at the loss of comedian Robin Williams.

Two very different people who faced their final days in very different ways. One was in tremendous physical pain, while the other was in tremendous emotional pain. Vicky was surrounded by loved ones in her final moments, while Robin, presumably, was alone.

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“Two Blueberry Muffins”- Novel Excerpt

This week, I am sharing on of my favorite chapters from my work in progress, the novelization of my second film, “The Hepburn Girls.” This is still very much rough draft form, but I’d love to hear your feedback, and if it is something you would enjoy reading once the novel is complete.

For a synopsis of the film, please visit my tab labeled “The Hepburn Girls.”

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Two Blueberry Muffins

Lunchtime finally rolls around and I tuck myself away in my favorite reading area. I never eat in the break room. It smells like burned popcorn tinged with the lingering aroma of stinky burritos. Instead, I like to eat the same way I work, surrounded by intelligent words. I am nose deep in a novel when I hear some rustling and the chair scrape beside me. I look up into the face of pure joy in human form.

Larry Louis is my classmate from high school. We used to ride the bus together before Alfred started driving. With Will Smith’s movie star good looks and a personality to match, Larry grew up to become our town’s mailman and favorite citizen.

A long time ago, I teased him about becoming mayor of the city since he seemed to already know everything about everyone anyway. He just smiled and shook his head.  I knew him well enough to read between the lines. While the suit of politics would fit him perfectly, his shoes of service were workman’s boots. To stuff him away in an office would kill his joy; he preferred to serve man and commune with God in nature.

I never brought it up again.
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An Evening with Deana

This entry is from a journal I keep on occasion called, “Every Day Moments.” It was begun during a time when I needed to see the good in every day situations to cope with grief.

My beloved pet cat Sammy passed away about six weeks prior to this entry. His sister Deana, mentioned below, passed away on January 2nd of this year. Both had kidney issues. 

They were only in my life for just over four years, but brought me immeasurable joy, and I miss them. Occasionally, I will share more memories as they come to mind.

May 31st, 2013

“The day after Sammy passed, I started visiting the Humane Society once a week after work. I stood there, desolate, and told them I just needed to hold a black cat. It was the best way I knew how to cope and still function. I met many, many beautiful souls there. I’ll tell their stories another day.

Today, after a long day of work cleaning and being cooped up indoors, I came home and let all my remaining animals outside. Right now that total stands at two dogs and one cat, but tomorrow that will change. Two sweet black male cats are coming home to live with me. I know my two new friends won’t be able to replace Sam, but I’m hoping it will help me move forward.

As I sat down on the ledge of flowers we planted near his grave, I sighed. I know it’s silly and probably pointless, but every time I pass his grave I want to to, or do, say “Hi Sam.” For nearly four years, I said that every time I saw him, and I still miss saying it.

Deana followed close behind me, as usual. Whenever we go to that area of the garden, she always ends up sitting on the stone marker. Do I think she knows Sammy’s there? No; but it moves me when I see her perched there. I do think she sleeps under the couch now because that’s where he slept. Knowing things will change tomorrow, I wanted to spend as much time as possible with her tonight.

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