Goodbye for now

Dear readers,

I have thought about this for a long time and done a lot of journaling and plain soul-searching. I have come to the conclusion that at least for now, I’m discontinuing posts on this blog.

I started this blog in November 2011, and I’ve since made many friends in the mental health advocacy world and in the blogging world itself. I have learned so much more about myself and the disorder that I initially wrote about: OCD.

I treasure each one of you who have followed me along the way.

As you know, I haven’t written much this year. I felt like I had nothing to say. And I realized and finally admitted to myself that I wanted to follow another passion of mine, a passion that I was writing about more and more on this blog: my love of animals, especially cats.

I am starting a new blog called Following Cats, located at http://www.followingcats.com/. I published my first post today. If you are interested, please go over and see if it’s a blog you think you might like to keep up with.

I consider many of you friends, and I hope not to lose touch with you. I will be coming by your blogs.

Thank you for the years of support and encouragement you have given me. Thank you for helping me through many dark times. Thank you for connecting with me. You have been gifts to me.

With love and peace,

Tina

Losing our boy

Chase Bird, Christmas 2014

I can’t tell you about the last six months without first telling you about Chase Bird. We lost our boy on Tuesday, October 27.

You know that my cats are my family. Larry feels the same way. So the last two weeks have not been easy.

Chase Bird’s death was unexpected. He was referred to a different vet to do dental surgery for stomatitis. During the exam before the surgery, the vet found a mass in his abdomen. We gave permission for her to do exploratory surgery.

He had numerous tumors, including one a little smaller than a golf ball. They could not be removed. Even without doing a biopsy, the three vets there thought it was lymphosarcoma, or lymphoma. The prognosis was very poor, and he was certain to be in pain.

Their recommendation: let Chase Bird go while he was on the table, so he would feel no pain and no fear. We let him go.

My friend Carolyn made this for me.

I want you to know about Chase Bird. He came into our lives in 2007 when he started hanging around our house. Apparently, he had been hanging around the neighborhood for a while.

He was so thin, we started feeding him. One morning, he jumped into my car as I got in to go to work. I remember his little face looking up at me, eyes so bright and eager. He chose us.

On October 20, 2007, we brought him into our house. We named him Chase Bird. He became family.

He was a gentle cat who would snuggle on our laps. He had the longest legs and jumped with such grace. When he purred, he also “puffed” his cheeks and made a clicking sound. That was his “I’m content” sound.

He could catch a toy mousie in the air. His paws could bend and pick things up—you’d swear he had thumbs. He would carry certain toys—only certain ones—in his mouth and looked so cute.

My friend Christi made this.

I am writing this on Tuesday night. We picked up his ashes tonight and brought him home. This ritual is heart wrenching and comforting, a strange mixture of emotions. It’s another reminder he’s gone. But his remains are home.

I have to believe that I will see my boy again. I still talk to him. I believe his spirit lives on.

And I think I heard him tonight.

The crematory service puts the name of the pet and the name of the pet parents on the bottom of the wooden box that holds the ashes and on a certificate stating that the ashes are his.

Chase Bird’s humans were listed not as “Larry and Tina Barbour.” They were listed as “Larry and Tiny Barbour.” Larry and I laughed and cried, probably a bit hysterically, when we saw that. And I’m sure I heard Chase Bird laughing too.

Sharing the ponderings of others

My minister shared something with me that I would in turn like to share with you.

First, a word about my minister. Alan truly ministers to people. Even though I go for long stretches of time without attending church, he still believes that part of his role as pastor of the church is to minister to me.

He has been generous with sharing others’ and his own the wisdom and ponderings during the last few months as I’ve faced difficulties. I appreciate his emails “checking in” and the time he has shared with me for conversations about what’s going on in my life, what I believe, and what I don’t believe.

He gets that religion and the spiritual are not easy things for me because of my OCD and depression.

Most recently, he shared a sermon/blog post called “I’m Through with Love” by Matt Gaventa, a minister who serves in a nearby county.

Gaventa’s story about his father and his understanding of love has me thinking about depression and love and grace in whole new ways.

If you have time, please read this post HERE.

The Christmas season: Joy and sorrow both have their places

The Joy

I hope you have been enjoying the holidays. We had a very nice Christmas.

Christmas Eve was spent with my mother-in-law and my stepdaughter and her family. Then we had Christmas dinner with my mother and one of my brothers and his wife.

And Santa visited the Barbour household and was very generous.

Chase Bird sniffed out his stocking after I laid it under the tree Christmas morning—I think he smelled the catnip in the toys.

He dragged the stocking around. Then we helped him get his new toys out. He seemed pleased.

I received something in my stocking that I’ve never received before: a bag of coal. I thought I had been pretty good this year, but apparently . . . Santa thought otherwise.

Oh, well, there was plenty of candy in the stocking, too. And actually, the coal is really candy.

The Sorrow

The ending of the Christmas holidays always leaves me feeling a bit low. But this year I’m trying to take a different perspective.

One of my mother’s younger sisters died last Saturday morning. It was not unexpected—she had been suffering from terminal cancer. But it’s always a sobering shock to hear of the death of someone who has been in your life—your whole life.

This week a person in our community who was probably known by just about everyone died. He was a good man, a public servant who served the schools and the citizens of the county for most of his life.

So how do we make sense of sorrow in the midst of the joy that we’re “supposed” to feel this time of year?

Somehow the sorrow seems to be in direct opposition to the holidays. But maybe it’s not.

The Christmas Story, whether you take it literally or figuratively, is one of love. Grace, peace, compassion—they are all there in the story.

Other religions teach love, too. As a Christian, I happen to celebrate Christmas.

For me, Christmas is a reminder of the love that we must share if life is to hold any meaning. Loving others is acting out the love of God. It’s love that we celebrate, and it’s love that comforts.

And if Christmas is a time of remembering this love, then that love should be lived out for the rest of the year.

Maybe the festivities are drawing to a close. But the love is not.