Silence

It's been ten days, and I just cannot seem to think of anything interesting to write here. I seem to be in an emotional slough of despond.

The weather here has been miserable. I'm pretty sure the sun has not shone here since February 1. And, yes, I mean that literally, not metaphorically. (Though the latter would be true also.)

I know stuff is happening in the Anglican world. I continue to read your blogs, but I cannot muster any energy to comment on the blogs or to write anything significant here.

In Missouri, today is a state holiday, so I've been home. Alone. Without stucture. Big mistake. Accomplished nothing more than the mournful fox at right. I suppose it was fortuitous that the two weekends since Shug's death, I had things that I had to do, places I had to be, people who were counting on me. Not so today.

The vet's office called this morning. Shug has been cremated, and her ashes are now ready for me to pick up.

And it is the liturgical season of dust and ashes. So there was nothing amiss in my quietly weeping Sunday through the Great Litany and the rest of the first Sunday in Lent.

I still need to develop a liturgy for Shug's burial. I am paralyzed and weep every time I try to turn my attention to it.

Scotty has spent most of today sleeping, curled up with his tail over his face. He has the right idea, I think.

In Memoriam

In memory of Shug
(1992 – February 1, 2008)



Shug left my life yesterday as suddenly as she came into it on November 14, 1992. On that November day, I tore open my door when I saw a tiny little kitten being kicked-at by a little boy. When I opened my door, intending to race out there and set things right, she saw my open door and raced toward it, with front and hindquarters all out-of-kilter in the funny way that kittens run. She raced into my home and claimed me as her own. She quickly established herself as queen of the household.

She left just as suddenly. I didn't realize she was sick until Thursday night. I took her to the vet first thing Friday (yesterday). Shug's kidneys were in failure, and there was nothing to be done. The vet and I talked, and I made the last loving decision I could make for her. Last evening, we spent good time together. I shared my good recollections with her, and we shared prayers of thanksgiving and of forgiveness. And I held her in my arms until God took her into God's own arms.

I am heartbroken. Scotty and I miss her terribly.

More than that, I cannot now say.

[These photos were taken in the fall of 2004, when Shug deigned to be photographed.]