Remember the love

(2018)

We ended up naming our first set of fosters Salzburg, Linz, Wels, Vienna and Austria and they’re all now on the next leg of their journey at the Best Friends Sugar House Adoption Center [now called the BF Lifesaving Center].

These kittens were an incredibly hard group. They were petrified at first which got worse (for three of them) as the weeks wore on. It got to where Julia confessed to having felt so depressed at the sight of kittens still in such fear of people who’ve spent weeks toiling to help them feel safe that she’d often have a difficult time going in their room to see them. It was discouraging to confront the reality that even the purity of love and devotion is sometimes unable to even be seen for the embedded trauma and fear. And I heard Julia in that sentiment; I had been surprised too.

And when I held Linz up to give her our pre-farewell “blessing of the fosters”—“we love you; if you need us, tell the universe to help you find us; may our love always serve to comfort you”—my tears started to flow. For it was early morning, I was exhausted and all the posts yesterday about the Parkland kids at the Tony’s (2018) performing that Rent song had really hit me. Children singing to heal a world that has hurt them was almost too much.

And Linz’s hair is downy, her body solid and strong, and as I held her—then slowly retrieved the four others—I fell into a weird thing. Where the act of this goodbye before going to the adoption center was reminding me of thoughts my usual haste had discarded. Thoughts of: I sacrifice for love and measure my life by it. And for a second, I felt not myself and cascaded through something to where suddenly I knew that my own actions of blessing these kittens were a comfort to my own self. That actually, In fact, my words spoken to these kittens were as if my most awake and alive self was speaking them to me—speaking them to the tired, hasty, overworked, single mama standing in the stinky kitten room at 1601 Paradise Ave—and in so doing, was both speaking the words and hearing them. Receiving THE comfort, and the singular source of peace I’ve always sought which was my own voice.

And I don’t know why that happened. The universe is not always just mine to manage.

But in that same stinky room, the day after Julia had confessed her discouragement about the kittens, the Universe had seemed to send her a message of perseverance. For the day after making her confession, Wels—the fluffy little man, had been the most frightened of all of them, in almost constant flight, wouldn’t come near by choice, we had to force him—had somehow changed, and making the trek across the kitten room, had come up to her and rubbed his head against her fingers.

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes…

How do you measure a year in a life?

I don’t have any answers to the mysteries of this world—why I had that experience as I was saying goodbye to them; why Wels suddenly did that—but that there are such things yet to behold may we all be loyal to that possibility, and keep singing to one another to heal our selves and this world that has hurt us.

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes…

How do you measure a year in a life?

How about love?

Measure in love.

Remember the love.

Be well, babies. Thank you being here to remind us of who we are and the things we’ve forgotten.

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