It seems everyone is supposed to have a best friend, someone who knows all about us and can listen without judging.
Well, this blog is…all of you are my best friend today. No one exists in my life to sit with me and hear my fears. No one knows what goes on inside my head. A lot of time is spent alone thinking. I don’t go anywhere, hang out with anyone, do anything. I lost my job a few months ago with no savings and I gave up the house I was living in so the owner would not lose it to foreclosure. I moved a town away from all that was familiar, with my 10 year old daughter, four fish tanks, ten cats and a German Shepherd named Lacy. We moved in with a friend and his son. We have our own bedroom and the animals all live outdoors – except for the fish, of course. Shortly after moving, one of our cats died right in front of us. She had epilepsy and she was ill. She did not survive the stress of the move. Three days later, my daughter and I headed out to sign her up for school and get some lunch. When we came back, we fed the animals. Lacy did not come when my little girl called her. We found her dead. She was alive two hours before when we left. She was in the little hole she liked for sleeping…well, she was halfway out of the hole, lying on her side, stiff, with her eyes open. My daughter started screaming and I went numb. I stared at the dog and looked across the yard at my daughter with her hands over her face, crying and screaming, “No! Not Lacy!” It was very surreal. I was completely numb. If you have ever had a major move in your life: the kind that leaves you feeling displaced with no memories to fall back on, nothing familiar to make you feel comfortable, well, it was that kind of move. And for three days, since the night the cat died, I had been watching my daughter cry over the cat, decorate her grave, put plastic flowers there, and use a permanent marker to make a stone for the cat’s name and RIP. This cat had only been with us a couple of months and yes we loved her, but the amount of grieving I’d been seeing out of my daughter over the cat was out of proportion for the time my daughter spent with her. I suspected she was crying over the move, the loss of our house, normalcy, new school, and, perhaps the cat. When Lacy died, I began to feel very grateful for the grieving she had already done over kitty. She was grieved-out and tired of crying. She took the death of her best friend much better than I expected. Once the sobbing was over, there was rational talk about the cat and dog going to Heaven to be with Grandpa – my dad, who died in April 2012 of cancer. Every few hours she would cry a little and say “Lacy? I can’t believe it’s Lacy?” Now it’s been three weeks and the tears are few, the comments are common. Mostly I hear, “I miss Lacy” and I answer, “I know” and we smile or I hug her.
I have no car. It’s a huge pain the ass and it also affects my mental well-being. I can’t work. I can’t do anything. I’m stuck until my friend is home with his truck and he lets me drive that. I lost a good paying job because of the car. I’m on the cusp of being hired at another job, same kind of work, less pay…still no car. I am moving forward with this one in faith.
I have a routine. I wake up around 730 or 8, get something to eat or drink, watch my favorite shows for a couple of hours, clean up around the house, organize and clean my room, write or play Word with Friends and sometimes I stay in bed the entire day, doing all of these things. I find too much comfort locked away in this room with the television and computer. I fight how much comfort I find here because it’s not real. This is not my home, I have to get a car and find a job, I have to be a productive member of society. Or do I?