A Personal Note
I've been quiet and exhausted for the last three months. Sorry I haven't written. While cities burned and a pandemic raged, my focus narrowed to one precious creature, our kitty Leto.
In April, he was diagnosed with a disease so rare that even the specialists threw up their hands. They said a compound made from Japanese pagoda tree blossoms might help him. (Not cure him. We knew he was terminal.)
It sounds like a fairy tale, where a magic flower and a kindly witch save a beloved child. And at first it felt that way. My husband Dave and I took turns giving Leto the magic potion almost around the clock. He fought like a warrior prince and rallied.
But after a while it stopped working and Leto's beautiful spirit started to fade. Dave and I decided to have the heartbreaking conversation about euthanasia. But maybe tomorrow.
That night at bedtime, I went to sing to Leto as I'd done for weeks. When I saw him, I knew something was wrong. Within minutes, his big heart stopped. I sung to him while his beautiful spirit slipped away. And I cried. I cried for him. I cried for everything.
And I feel guilty about not caring more about what was happening in the world these last three months. About not doing more about it. About trying to save one small creature and knowing I would fail. About failing.
I share this with you in case you've felt the same. As this pain lessens (it will never leave), I'm acknowledging that other pain. I'm searching for what I can do to make one small difference in the world.
And accepting—there is a time for every purpose under Heaven.
Be well,
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Thanks for reading! I'm Debra Eve, proud late bloomer and possessor of many passions.