Yesterday was Bestie's birthday.
Today is the anniversary of the death of my wonderful, amazing, crazy furbaby, Ivan. Ivan's death has stuck in my mind because 1) he was a rescue cat and I only had a rough guess of his age and no birthday to honor, and 2) it happened during a very deep depression.
I remember things -- bad things -- about that summer very vividly.
Ivan finally succumbed to the GI cancer he'd battled for over two years. Longer really. He was diagnosed in March 2014 and it was already very advanced. His vet suggested a treatment that was very expensive but would probably allow him to live and feel as he always had, at least for as long as he had left. The treatment had been known to extend life, a good happy pain-free life, for as much as two years in cases less advanced as his. We, the vet and I, assumed Ivan would be on this treatment for maybe as much as six months. If we were lucky. But my boy took to it and it kept him going as himself until June 13, 2016.
And I remember the days after his death. I barely slept. I lay in bed and watched the light gradually fill the room and a watched my death, my suicide, play over and over and over in my head until the alarm rang and I dragged myself through another day. I don't know now how I survived that summer. I really don't.
I bought a car, my current VW, Zoe, that summer. Work was increasingly terrible, tho I couldn't give you specifics at this point. I know the constant anxiety and insecurities and all-around general mean-spirited vibe from there was the catalyst for the depression. And then I was fired in November 2016. Between June and November is just a world in excessively bright light and sharp focus filled with psychological pain. In a weird way, being fired eased the depression, or at least sent the anxiety soaring so that the one mental illness completely overshadowed the other. The suicidal thoughts dissipated like morning mist.
Every year I promise myself I will fill my mind with thoughts of Bestie leaving no room for memories of the bad times. And I do a little better every year.
But June 13, the day I drove Ivan to the vet's office for the last time, wishing that it was my last trip anywhere, too, well, this will always be a hard day for me. And I really really need to remember to take it as a vacation day. I could visit Bestie and let our 30-year friendship fill the terrible darkness that still lingers in the corners.
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