Standing at the precipice of another….semester, year, life….
Today is the last day before the next semester. Hubby and I jammed in a packed weekend of socializing and birding before the next go around. I finished last semester with a3.85, which is almost a full point better than I expected.
I’m in it now. In it to win it.
My cranky bug died this morning.
I knew the end was coming. Two years ago, when he still had two eyes and could still climb, the vet wanted to put him to sleep. Despite the fact he couldn’t fly, he could still move around quickly and hold his own with his two cockatiel brothers, so I said no, the end comes when Paulie calls it.
Decline was so gradual I didn’t realize it was happening. He lost an eye to infection last year. And by degrees, he slowed, didn’t climb as high, until I realized yesterday he couldn’t climb at all anymore.
I took him out quite a bit yesterday. He didn’t like me holding him as a rule, but he enjoyed skritches, and he basked in the attention.
Last night, Gary refused to get into the cage. I didn’t cover the cage but closed the door to the room. It’s not the first time he refused to get back in the cage, so as long as I closed off the room, he’d be fine.
At 3 am, I heard Nic and G talking loudly in the hallway.I shushed them and heard the birds chirping quietly behind the closed door.
This morning, I opened the door and George and Gary were sitting on top of the cage. Paulie was on his back at the bottom.
I thought for a split second to call my mom. She likely already knew, not being on this side of the veil anymore. I brought his still body downstairs, where he lay in state on top of the washer until every one paid respects and said goodbye.
He’s now the guardian of the magnolia behind the garage, attended by wrens and cardinals.
God speed, you little crank pot. We will miss you.
No shortage of struggle this last little while. We all finished our coursework, and wait for grades.
Elder has had some unexpected bad luck with an unfortunate encounter with our Christmas tree and got a lacerated cornea for his troubles. A lot of things remain unresolved and undone. Our house looks like the transition we’re all in. Frankly, as a collective, we’re a mess.
The tree remains half decorated since the eye encounter. I have 3 weeks before the next assault, I mean, semester, and don’t know where to start. So I will start small; chocolate dipped strawberries and pumpkin bread. I wrapped two gifts for a party tonight.
I noticed a bag next to the tree and peered in. It is filled with gifts and cards for elder from his bingo peeps. And tears sprang to my eyes because there is space for grace for him; he does have people who are not mom and dad who love him. We may not see them, but they exist.
These are the first happy tears in a while.
I’m coming to the end of my semester, and it could go either way.
I had a little enlightenment come my way this week; in one of my waking dream segments of getting my (almost done) social justice project in order, I had a flash of insight into a relationship I’d put on hold while I untangled my thoughts, feelings, and baggage. Suddenly, it was all laid out in front of me from that person’s perspective.
I kind of think that this was a mom moment; she’s had a way of finishing the unfinished the last few months. There is peace as well as sadness, and a measure of compassion.
I might close this with a card. I don’t know yet.
Back to the project, then hopefully this time next week everything will be done, for better or worse.
And whatever it is, it is.
So the ancestors aren’t going to let me go.
A ton of inflection points these last 3 months surrounded my first semester in 3 decades. I’ve ugly cried at least a half dozen times and said I was done at least twice that.
But I’m not allowed to be done; not until I do whatever it is I am meant to do.
Earlier in the semester, I spun my wheels over a segment of a project for the better part of a week until my piece came together, literally all of a piece, in my dreams. And that presentation was a slam dunk.
So this morning when I was half awake, my final project for one class laid itself out for me. I’m sketching it out and it is taking shape. And dovetailing nicely with my final paper in the other class.
I will finish, and whatever will be, will be.
I’m feeling some things, so here we go:
My kids say they have dinner handled. They are almost 25 and 21, so whatever that looks like, it’s theirs. I’m eating a salad because it makes me happy.
I really don’t know how this semester is going to pan out. I don’t care. I will show up and do the work.
I have done all I know how to do. Some things are phasing out, but that’s okay. It’s not quitting if it’s not serving you.
I’m grateful for the stuff that’s going right. And the people that make it happen.
My mom called herself an ostrich; she said she stuck her head in the sand at the first sign of trouble. In the months before she died, she expressed her fears about climate change and this election. I think she had an idea of how bad it was going to get, because she was intentional about her exit from this world.
She was done, so she allowed it when pneumonia took over.
I find myself grieving and mourning in fragments over different things; I feel overwhelmingly sad that she died alone, even though she was in her favorite place in her favorite chair. My niece made up her bed, because the unfinished business was disturbing. Before all this mom mourned the departure of her health, never quite right after COVD, her back causing her pain. When she came out to my car last December with a cane, my heart stopped. Mom was officially old, and the clock was ticking.
That’s the last time elder saw her, well, alive.
So I’m sitting here grieving a bit before getting down to business on my final projects for the semester. Part of me wonders what’s the point, and the other part of me tells me to get ready, there’s work to do.
Mom didn’t want to be here for it, but I am, and the only way is through.
