Mr. Marsberry Cat died Monday, April 4, 2016, peacefully at home while sound asleep on his favorite blanket. He was 18 years old. RIP Mars.
The photo for his memorial button was snapped last year. I haven’t made them yet… but do think one will be a magnet to stick on his ash tin. People call to offer replacement cats, but I can’t do this again.
He dangled a
future in front of me
as an unattainable carrot
that only he could see,
then called me delusional
thinking that I want
what cannot be.
This selfie is proof that I am NOT delusional.
The painting is called SOAR… as in, NEVER TO NEST. See those birds? I paint birds to represent souls. One of those two black birds flying solo is ME… the other is the old friend who cold turkey cut me out of his life via a one sided early morning text slam in January.
My art is abstract, but I am a realist… I knew when I painted SOAR back in 1998 that there would never be a fairy tale romance leading to some happily ever after bull between us. That is one thing we had in common… neither one of us wanted that! I was fresh out of a suffocating marriage and the R.Tist was leaving before I met him.
Yes, there was a time when I wondered if we could be more than friends.
That was TWELVE YEARS AGO… he made it very clear that would never be, and described our relationship as a unique and special friendship back in 2004. Later that year, he moved to PA. The last time I saw him was in 2006, when he drove to Ohio to cheat on his then live-in girlfriend, who had gone to Vegas with her friends.
If he wanted to be with me, he would have stayed with me or asked me to go with him. If he had a change of heart, his feet would have brought him back to me… that never happened so I had to get over it, accept what is as is… we were meant to be friends, nothing more.
So, I’m like totally confused.
I thought we were friends… long distance muses and friends.
I don’t understand why he would say things like he always doubted my ability to be his friend and how I could care less about what he’s going through… as if my interest in being friends with him was holding onto old hopes for more, rip me up one side and down the other.
Has he harbored a delusion of me being delusional all these years?
Maybe I gave him the delusion of me being delusional when I was twirling ideas of leaping in leap year… I wanted to run away, make a fresh start somewhere else and yes, I did considered moving closer to my old friend so we could hang out once in awhile and talk in person instead of texting. He talked about moving, too. He’s the one who said, “yeah, I could live with you.” We did not talk about hooking up or anything stupid… it was more like a yeah, we could tolerate each other’s artistic quirks enough to share space, split the cost of living, make it easier to survive. Those conversations were like daydreaming out loud… just twirling ideas, nothing set in stone.
Can we make amends?
No… I am dead to him. He killed our friendship because I failed to live up to his expectations. My crime was being human. Okay, one slightly flawed bipolar human who self medicated during a manic stage and kept her personal life private, but it was really none of his business… and should have had no bearing on our friendship.
True, I could have been a better friend. He picked up on something being off with me… but was he there for me? No… when I told him that I wrote a letter to explain what was going on with me, he mulled it through memories, twirled it with imagination, drew conclusions on assumptions, and slammed me with a text good-bye BEFORE the mail had time to arrive. Straight up, he could have been a better friend to me, too.
I’ve been talking to my shrink about all this… confusion, anger, mixed emotions is all part of the grieving process. I still care… I miss my friend, but I have to let the friendship go… it is dead.
We also talked about the death of my nephew. I have a lot of anger, confusion, and unanswered questions about that, too. I want to blame the asshole who dumped his body in a McDonald’s parking lot. Paramedics were able to get his heart going again, but too much time had passed. The hospital tried heroic measures to save his life, even dropped his body temperature for 24 hours, but it was too late. He was brain dead. They took his body off life support last Monday. I wonder where he OD’d, how much time had passed, if this dude purposely drove up to dump him on the south side of Youngstown, where discovery wouldn’t make the news. They lived way down in Columbiana County. What was he doing with that guy anyway? He was clean, why would he use heroin again? Was it by choice?
Shrink told me to keep writing… to keep doing what I’m doing… he said I seem more stable now, so that is a good thing. I feel more stable. I’m just grieving.
Thanks for reading.
Today is a day of quiet contemplation. I want to be alone with my thoughts and wrap myself in this veil of mourning until dawn. I busy my hands while my mind dwells where it wants to be.
When was Palm Sunday? I missed it. Was it last Sunday?
After wringing every last drop of life she could out of this world, my aunt died at the Cleveland Clinic last Sunday night. The call came at exactly midnight, but I already knew she was gone because a strong sense that my grandmother was waiting for her had already washed over me.
On Thursday, we committed her body to the earth.
I did not “share” on social media because I did not want to hear (or read) any of whatever you call words that people say when other people die, words that I myself have been guilty of saying. I have learned that a simple “I love you” is enough. Or, better yet… type < and a 3 together to make a heart.
Today, I prepare for my own little sunrise service.
Barnbees 