buttons

His death was what really sent me over the edge. Buttons was a five-year-old cat we had who died suddenly and unexpectedly. He had two seizures and then died in my son's arms...rough on Jon, to be sure, but he agreed with me that nothing and no one should die alone. To the end, Buttons was well-loved and well cared for. We got him as the tiniest kitten you could imagine (a story for another day) and upon his death he weighed in at close to twenty pounds. I used to ask him (lovingly, of course) where the little kitten I knew went and why Buttons had eaten him. He liked his food, his sleep, and being petted...in other words, like most indoor (or outdoor) felines everywhere. His loss left me feeling bereft...a word that would often occur to me as I stared at my bare ring finger, bare body, or bare life. Barring one forced attempt that felt uncomfortable and forced and lasted only a few minutes, I had not cried since my wife of twenty-four years (and steady companion for thirty) left me and the children on November 13, 2015...a Friday the 13th, no less, and the bitch-mother of them all. I thought I was processing my sorrow when really I was just storing it up, little by little, like rain filling up a rain barrel. That dam broke when I pulled back the sheet to stroke his soft, still-warm fur. "Hey, buddy" I said. And that was when I broke, the rain barrel fell apart under its own weight, and the tears came. They came in an all-consuming flood, washing over me wave upon wave. That was the beginning of my mourning...it ended (well, not ended, precisely, but begun) a process of mourning which ended up with me locked in a psych ward two days later. I had always pulled back from suicide because of my children. They mattered to me in more ways than I could count. Leaving them with a legacy of suicide was unthinkable. Suddenly, however, that reason began to hold less water (and more tears) than I could ever imagine. It started to matter less and less to me. Terrified that one day the scales would balance at a perfect zero and I would take the same bloody and well-trodden path which Kurt Cobain had, I signed a 72 hour admission to my local psychiatric ward, where I gained some inspiration, some perspective, and some adjustments to my medication. All these things aside, I think the most therapeutic thing I did was allow that wave of sadness overwhelm me. I swam along that stream of tears for almost an hour -- the "ugly cry", as it is called -- mourning not just the loss of Buttons, but the loss of my marriage, my self-respect, my everything...even the years-ago deaths of my parents. I mourned out all that I could, and was left with simply me...still bereft of all these things, but clearer, somehow...as if my copious tears washed the dirt and grime of denial clear and I could once again see through the window of my soul. And that, my friends, is all I can bear to write for now. So long, Buttons, and thank you for that final gift. Rest easy, buddy. I know I'll see you again one day.