Betsey and Ross: Their Absence Makes My Heart Grow Fonder

Betsey and Ross died one year ago today. Well, I guess technically it was tomorrow because it was the 23rd, but it was Friday, so I think of it as today.

I remember thinking I'd never get over that loss.

They never judged me. They never said I let them down, disappointed them, or didn't live up to their expectations. They were never embarrassed by me. Of course, they couldn't say any of those things. They were cats, after all. But I knew they didn't think them either.

All they wanted was to love me and to be loved by me. They didn't care if I didn't wear make-up or failed to shave my legs. They would snuggle with me anytime, any place. They loved snuggling up next to me when I was writing or reading and they always purred me to sleep at night. They helped me work and gave me regular weather reports from their perch in the window, where they also guarded the house from blowing leaves and other threats.

I'd never before felt the kind of unconditional love that pets give us.  I'd never felt that kind of unconditional love before, period.

I don't have kids and probably never will. Betsey and Ross were my kids.

The last words I said to each of them were, "Thank you for letting me be your mom."

A year later, I still miss Betsey and Ross. Don't misunderstand me, it's not as intense as it once was. Mostly, I just think of them fondly when I see their pictures. Once in awhile, though, something will happen that triggers some sadness.

A few weeks ago, for example, I was awakened in the middle of the night by a sound I hadn't heard in almost a year. Zoey was getting ready to throw up, just like Betsey used to do regularly. Of course, I couldn't stop Zoey from coughing up her hairball, but as I knelt on the floor cleaning up the mess at 2am, I was immediately taken back to the nightly clean-ups of Betsey throwing up and I started sobbing. That bottom of the gut uncontrollable sobbing. Sure, it was a little ridiculous, but I just couldn't stop. All I could think of was how much I missed Betsey.

I remember that afternoon in the vet's office like it was yesterday.

Betsey was first. I did not want to say good-bye to her, but her little body was just worn out. She could not digest or keep down any food and her quality of life was pretty low. I just held her and talked to her until she was gone, and even then, I didn't want to let go.

The vet took Betsey out of the room and while he was gone, I just cried and cried. I questioned whether I made the right decision and wished I could take it back.

Then he returned and I had another decision to make. I wasn't 100% sure I was strong enough to say good-bye to Ross at the same time I lost Betsey, but he was terribly sick too.

I took him out of his crate, still wavering about what to do, and that boy just about broke his neck looking for his sister. I could barely keep him in my arms. I looked around the room at Craig and at my vet hoping they would give me some guidance. Neither did. It was my decision alone. As Ross continued to hunt for Betsey, I knew what I had to do. If I took him home, he'd die of a broken heart, I had no doubt. I was certain he'd look for Betsey forever and his loneliness and stress would cause his already uncontrollable diabetes would get even worse.

Just like with Betsey, I held Ross and talked to him, through my tears, until he was gone. He held on longer than Betsey did, but it wasn't more than five minutes. Again, I didn't want to let go of my boy.

In the end, I walked out of the vet's office with two empty cat crates and sobbed all the way home. Luckily, I wasn't driving.

Today, my house is filled with the sounds and energy of growing kittens. It's a happy place, once again filled with the unconditional love of pets. We remember Betsey and Ross with lots of love, fondness for all the joy they brought to my life, and the life lessons they taught me.

It's Been A Month . . .

It's exactly one month since I said good-bye to Betsey and Ross.

I've gotten to the point where I can now mostly think or talk about them without crying or being sad, but every so often the pain is still raw.

Don't misunderstand me, I know I made the right decision, but I miss them.

• I miss them hopping up on the dining room table in an attempt to share my dinner.
• I miss Betsey nuzzling my neck and purring as I fall asleep.
• I miss Ross greeting me at the door each night.
• I miss the way they'd warm up my bed each night and give me the stink eye each morning when the alarm went off.
• I miss them shedding on everything and never being able to get their hair off my clothes.
• I miss the mess they'd make with their food on my bedroom floor.
• I miss finding Ross hiding in my bedroom closet or under the bathroom sink.
• I miss Betsey "talking" all night long.
• I miss the way they would groom each other, protect each other, and curl up into each other to sleep.
• I miss Betsey "helping" me work by laying across my left arm while I typed on my computer and "reading" every word I wrote.
• I miss waking up in the morning to find all my lower kitchen cabinets wide open because Ross has opened them during the night.
• I miss them talking to me while I am in the shower, where they knew they had a captive audience.
• I miss Ross's rough and tumble attitude. In 16 years, I never saw him lose his cool and calm demeanor. He even purred when he saw me coming with the insulin needle.
• I miss the way Betsey would suddenly be under foot before I had a can of tuna completely open, even if when I pulled it out of the cabinet she was three rooms away.
• I miss the how they would scratch at a closed door when I was on the other side because they thought I was having fun without them.
• I miss looking over at the wing-back chair and seeing Betsey curled up on it.
• I miss pulling out a chair at the dining table only to find Betsey or Ross curled up on it and giving me the "do you mind? I'm sitting here" look.
• I miss walking into the kitchen and finding Ross on the counter licking drops of water out of the faucet. I guess I'm just lucky he never figured out how to turn it on.

I guess I'm just trying to say I miss them a lot. I keep thinking I'm not going to miss them so much. People keep telling me it'll go away when I get new cats to replace them. I've actually looked at some cats online at the local shelters and considered adopting a cat a friend was giving away because her new home wouldn't allow her cat. But I'm just not ready. Maybe one day, but I don't see it happening any time soon.

I've Been Quiet Because I've Been Mourning

You may have noticed that I've been quiet since March 23rd when I posted Betsey and Ross's obituary.

The truth is that I've spent a lot of time crying and missing them. I miss them more than words can begin to say. In fact, even writing those words make me tear up and I've gone all day without crying once. Some days, I do really well and can smile when I talk about them or see their picture. But I haven't been able to read the obituary I wrote since I posted it because to see it is too still too much.

The cards, notes, and comments from friends and readers have helped me. It's amazing how many people really understand that pets are more than just pets. They're family. And, in a way, they're more than that. Unlike some family relationships, my relationship with Betsey and Ross was never complicated. They never judged or said "I told you so." I never felt inferior with them and they didn't care if I put make-up on in the morning. They simply loved unconditionally and let me love them unconditionally. They taught me that.

I picked their ashes up on Saturday morning from March Animal Hospital to bring Betsey and Ross home for the final time. Walking through the vet's door, I burst into tears. Kathy, one of the wonderful receptionists, spotted me and brought me the package containing their ashes, in one urn, and their paw prints. Inside the velvet bag was a card with a story a co-worker had sent me earlier in the week. Each time I read it, the story makes me feel just a little better.

Until we meet again at the Rainbow Bridge . . . 

There is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable. 

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had been left behind. 

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly sops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; his eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carry him faster and faster. 

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again career the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from life but never absent from your heart. 

Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together . . .

Betsey and Ross are playing together at the Rainbow Bridge. And until we're together again, their ashes live in a special place in my house and their paw prints hang next to the collage of my favorite Betsey and Ross pictures.

Summer 2009: The Summer My Adolescence Died

I don't even want to turn on the news or check out a news website anymore. As my friend Bergsie Tweeted yesterday, "It used to be I'd see a celebrity name listed on Google trends and assume they'd made a sex tape. Now I assume they're dead."

Too many people have died in the last 3 1/2 months. This is a partial list of those with the greatest impact on my life. In one way or another, each of these people has contributed to my life and the woman I've become. I was entertained by them, dreamed of them ringing my doorbell and informing me I was rich, covetted their hair, wished I could dance or sing like them, fantasized about being romanced by them, inspired to be a better person and leave the world better than I found it by them, and loved by them.

Ed McMahon from The Johnny Carson Show, Star Search, & Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes - June 23rd
Farrah Fawcett of Charlie's Angels - June 25th
Michael Jackson, The King of Pop - June 25th
Walter Cronkite, CBS Legend and "The Most Trusted Man in America" - July 17th
Frances Scruggs Paulk Bredemeier, my Nana - July 12th
John Hughes of 16 Candles, Breakfast Club, and Ferris Bueller's Day Off - August 6th
Eunice Kennedy, humitarian - August 11th
Senator Ted Kennedy - August 25th
Patrick Swayze, Johnny Castle of Dirty Dancing - September 14th
Mary Travers of Peter, Paul & Mary - September 16th

I truly wish I'd bought stock in Kleenex earlier this summer. I'd be sad, but at least I would have made some money.

It's Been A Month Since Nana Died and I Know I'll Be Okay

It's been a month since Nana died. As I told a friend last night, my world has been turned upside down and inside out. I don't know which way is up or where I'm going most of the time.

A month ago I felt numb and I had 10 million things to do for a two visitations, two Celebration of Life services, and a burial, dealing with two funeral homes, two churches, and a lot of family across a bunch of states. On top of that, I was headed straight to the Mary Kay Seminar in Texas 30 seconds after we buried Nana. Okay, it was the next day, but it felt like 30 seconds later.

I didn't have time to be sad or begin to grieve. Yes, I was sad and I did have moments that were unbelievably difficult. The first time I walked into the sanctuary at Crystal Beach Community Church after Mom and I met with Pastor Susie, my eyes filled with tears. So much of my life has taken place in that church that walking into it without Nana even when it was empty was filled with emotion. Driving by my step-grandfather's house next door to the church brought back 30+ years of memories. Walking out to the end of the pier reminded me of all the sunsets I watched with Nana over the years.

It all really hit me for the first time though on Nana's birthday when I arrived at the church before Mom and Dave to set up for the reception. I walked into the sanctuary alone and saw Nana in her casket up by the pulpit. I saw the pew she sat in for 50 years, the one in memory of my grandfather, Jesse Paulk. It felt empty without her sitting in the pew. Although it is the 5th pew from the front, Mom, Dave, and I sat there during the service. There simply wasn't anywhere else we could sit.

I can't say I remember all the details of any of Nana's services. Mom and I both spoke. The music and the readings were beautiful. Many people told me touching stories of their time with Nana.

A month later, I'm in full grieving mode. The tears arrive when I least expect them and mostly with little warning. Fortunately, I'm usually able to choke them back when it's not appropriate to cry (i.e., when I'm with friends or clients). There's only one friend I've really cried in front of and I'm grateful beyond words for him. Usually I tough it out.

Yesterday, I met with a new client who shared with me that she had just moved to Arlington Heights from Florida and when I asked where, she replied Tarpon Springs. She didn't know Nana though. As I picked my jaw up off the table, she told me her son was born on July 12th. Wow. What a small world.

The good news is that last night I reached a point where I could tell a story about Nana and laugh at how cute and funny it was without crying. Later, I stood outside watching the Perseid Meteor Shower and upon seeing an enormous meteor shoot from north to south across the sky leaving a trail with my naked eye, I spontaneously jumped up and down cheering and I felt myself genuinely smile for the first time in a month. It was only moments later that I realized it was midnight and I was standing alone in my backyard. It didn't matter though. I love seeing those miracles of nature happen and the smile remained for quite awhile. That is until an hour later when I suddenly erupted in tears again.

I'll be okay, but this grief thing is a bitch.

Rest In Peace Nana

This is my favorite picture of Nana. It was taken on Thanksgiving Day on Caladesi Island, but I don't remember what year.

Yesterday afternoon at 3:10pm ET, my Nana, Frances Scruggs Paulk Bredemeier, went home to be with God. She passed away peacefully after opening her sparkling blue eyes for the first time in 5 days.

At the time of her passing, Nana was just 6 days shy of her 93rd birthday, which I had planned to celebrate with her on Saturday. I will still celebrate with Nana, but the form will be just a bit different from what I had planned.

As I have written about extensively, Nana was my rock. My heart aches and the hole in it is almost unbearable tonight, more than 24 hours after she died. I know I have been extremely fortunate and blessed to have had 38 mostly wonderful years with her and I cherish each one of my memories with her.

In Nana's honor, I have created another blog to celebrate her life. It's called Remembering Frances and on it you'll find many of my memories, newspaper stories, pictures, and even some videos will be appearing in the next day or so. Remembering Frances is also where I will place up-to-date information regarding her services in both Crystal Beach, FL and Batesville, MS.

Amazing Grace was one of Nana's favorite songs, so it seems fitting to end this post with it.

Rest in Peace Socks

Betsey and Ross are simply beside themselves tonight at the horrible news that their dear friend Socks passed away earlier today. Although they weren't related, Betsey and Ross felt they shared a special kinship with Socks because they all lived in Washington, DC simultaneously from 1996-2000.

Through their publicist (that's me), Betsey and Ross issue the following statement: "To President Clinton, Madame Secretary Clinton, Chelsea, and Ms. Currie, we send you our deepest sympathies and regrets. Being cats ourselves, we understand the love and devotion Socks felt for each of you. Socks was loyal and comforting to each of you during difficult times and playful and flirty during the happy times. He was a true member of the family, as all cats are. Obviously, nothing can take away the sadness you are feeling at this time, but know that you are in our thoughts and prayers. Socks was a true American patriot and will be dearly missed."