I met with a former co-worker, a survivor, that has now become a friend. We vowed to meet quickly discuss the matter of medical insurance, maintaining coverage for myself and domestic life partner despite the obvious downgrade in protection. Thankfully, the coverage price is in the realm of affordable with the government break placed on COBRA. But that was a short exchange, the rest was an hour think conversation over some calamari and a drink.
I shared with her my continuing saga of love over this last month (it seems as though time has taken on a new longer format). When I came to the part of how I had taken to write letters her head turned up and away, she teared up, and her hand went reflexively to her heart. "With stamps" she asked. "Yes, with stamps." I replied.
She shared with me a recent loss in her life, one that I begged for her to relay in story form. Her cat of six-and-half years old had recently was put to sleep from sudden kidney failure. Two days ago, alive. One day ago, laying, listless under the couch. Today, put to sleep. Her other cat walks the house at night now and howls; calling out to their lost friend. All of this has left her with dreams of children crying and being killed or suddenly dying.
I reached my hand out across the table and placed it on hers as she finished the story that just started the next chapter. As all stories of loss of a pet, it evokes emotions in those that can empathize with perhaps the type or animal ... but for me there was this clear sense of humanity and spirit that now gone. She had lost a beloved companion.
And in most recent memory I thought back to the moment when the company that we both proudly worked for laid me off and dropped her down to part time hours. Shortly after Jack became ill, Elisabeth's war decorated soldier, CPT Love Bunny, and we were presented with this choice one morning with saving his life. We were returning him back to active duty aboard the SS Outboard Motor; there was never a doubt. My friend unfortunately did not have such an opportunity as any action would have prolonged an inevitable, unpleasant death.
She said the real callousness of the situation, the one that I had also felt when they prepared the paperwork for Jack, was the fact that she was handed this credit card statement to sign. Under normal circumstances, in the course of our average day we pay for shit. WE PAY FOR SHIT! We buy lattes and Big Macs and big screen televisions. We sign our names or type in PIN numbers for meaningless shit ...
it is not often that we pay for life, a chance of life, or even death. So when you are presented with your receipt to sign it seems so incredibly unreal and in insulting to the circumstances.
There is this huge disconnect in my reality between life and dollars; love and dollars.
I shared with her my continuing saga of love over this last month (it seems as though time has taken on a new longer format). When I came to the part of how I had taken to write letters her head turned up and away, she teared up, and her hand went reflexively to her heart. "With stamps" she asked. "Yes, with stamps." I replied.
She shared with me a recent loss in her life, one that I begged for her to relay in story form. Her cat of six-and-half years old had recently was put to sleep from sudden kidney failure. Two days ago, alive. One day ago, laying, listless under the couch. Today, put to sleep. Her other cat walks the house at night now and howls; calling out to their lost friend. All of this has left her with dreams of children crying and being killed or suddenly dying.
I reached my hand out across the table and placed it on hers as she finished the story that just started the next chapter. As all stories of loss of a pet, it evokes emotions in those that can empathize with perhaps the type or animal ... but for me there was this clear sense of humanity and spirit that now gone. She had lost a beloved companion.
And in most recent memory I thought back to the moment when the company that we both proudly worked for laid me off and dropped her down to part time hours. Shortly after Jack became ill, Elisabeth's war decorated soldier, CPT Love Bunny, and we were presented with this choice one morning with saving his life. We were returning him back to active duty aboard the SS Outboard Motor; there was never a doubt. My friend unfortunately did not have such an opportunity as any action would have prolonged an inevitable, unpleasant death.
She said the real callousness of the situation, the one that I had also felt when they prepared the paperwork for Jack, was the fact that she was handed this credit card statement to sign. Under normal circumstances, in the course of our average day we pay for shit. WE PAY FOR SHIT! We buy lattes and Big Macs and big screen televisions. We sign our names or type in PIN numbers for meaningless shit ...
it is not often that we pay for life, a chance of life, or even death. So when you are presented with your receipt to sign it seems so incredibly unreal and in insulting to the circumstances.
There is this huge disconnect in my reality between life and dollars; love and dollars.
doll_:
i really love the way you write.
mistersatan:
I felt the exact same way when we had to put our last dog down. So surreal and bizarre.