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Winston passed away a little over twenty four hours ago. Essentially, I was the one who killed him.
Cats always seem so emotionally distant. I never realized that they could feel depression like that... It wasn't leukemia after all. It was jaundice. Usually, the disease targets older cats. For Winny, who was only a little over two, it's known to come with the onset of extreme stress or grief. And I was the one who took him to Will's grave. Like I said, Winny worshipped Will. So much that he ended up giving his life for him and following him into death. He did what I can't do. I envy him a little.
It seems I've been crying a lot lately. There's a white residue from the salt left all around my eyes, and it stings like hell. I can't really begin to describe what it's like for me to lose a pet. With Will, I didn't lose a dog, I lost my little boy. Literally. With Winny, it was my little boy's best friend. The amount of pain is just ridiculous.
We buried Winny at Will's feet. I doubt we'll see him around much, if at all- he's been ready to go for the past four weeks. Additionally, I've been burning a candle for Will each Saturday for a month after his death. Yesterday, I burned his and Winny's together.
Will died at 6:15 PM, Winny at 3:10 PM. Both Saturdays. Georgia, Will and Winny have all died on Saturdays.
You can also note that thing my Mom said. There's the two. Hobbes has a bad head infection. We'll see what happens next.
 Wineberry · Sun Aug 13, 2006 @ 11:27pm · 1 Comments |
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I think I'm crazy. Sometimes. The things that happen here are sometimes just too fantastic. I must be insane. Sane people don't see things that aren't there. They don't hear voices or sounds that offer no explanation. They don't arrive at obscure conclusions or project their thoughts into their own personal field of vision. These are all the things that sane people don't do. And I do. So I've got to be crazy, right? But, then...
Doors don't slam shut on their own because you're crazy. Objects don't go flying across the room because you're crazy. You don't have witnesses to hallucinations because you're crazy. You don't see the same strange signs as another because you're crazy. Your dreams and hallucinations don't come true just because you're crazy. Everything that comes out of my mouth must sound like that. Crazy. But if you could witness it just once...
No one will ever prove any religion with generalized evidence. That's just not the way it works, I think. Wouldn't that be getting someone to do the work for you? Religion is something only you yourself can prove. It's personalized to such a degree that it can never be anything less. It's not general. It's not like that.
You'd be surprised how many people see black dogs, rolling balls and dead family members walking across hallways. Statistically speaking, only 1% of the population is schizophrenic. And as schizophrenia is divided into six catagories, paranoid being the only one to experience visual or auditory hallucinations, that makes it less than 1% that should be seeing this stuff. It doesn't add up, does it? Less than 1%, and yet so many people seeing so many things?
Okay, so which one's wrong?
Wineberry · Sun Jul 23, 2006 @ 09:18am · 1 Comments |
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William loved all our cats, but he and Winny were the closest. Ever since I showed him where Will was... he hasn't been right. Winny is a very loud, very big, very attention grubbing cat. But this past week, he's nothing like he's been. He was laying in a single spot in the garage for hours. He won't eat. He walks very slowly. He won't look at me, or meow, or pur when I pet him. If you knew Win, you'd know how horribly out of character this is for him. He's lost so much weight...
Mom and Sarah say things sometimes. Only they're not really aware of what they're saying. The day before Will died, Mom thought, "If it's Hobbes, we'll lose two more." But she claims that the subject is always wrong. If that was really meant for Will, I'm afraid Winny's next. I've heard of dogs that were so depressed after their master's death, they'd pass away. I've never heard of a cat doing that.
(Will had about twenty nicknames. Mr. Bill was one we used a lot. We also called him Bill, Billard, Billard Ball, Billy Boy, Billy Baby, Willum, Willard, Wee Willy, Villiam (VHIL-yoom) and though not so often, Mr. Cake. And he knew every one of them.)
Wineberry · Sat Jul 22, 2006 @ 07:59am · 0 Comments |
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Love is wrought with many pains, but with a dog there is only one.
He picked me. Mom wanted him because she knew he was special. I wanted Natalie because she was the pretty one. But he picked me. Once I finally came to realize that, I cried aout his eventual death ever since. For ten years I've done that.
When we moved for the first time, we had to tranquilize the dogs so they wouldn't bother the movers. Will was always very susceptible to medicines. He followed me everywhere, even when he was drugged. I remember him trying his best to keep with me, but he kept stumbling and falling into walls. I finally just sat down with him so he wouldn't have to try so hard to stay with me. He even tried to jump in the bath so he could be right beside me. He stood up on the edge of the tub, on two legs, with his forearms held out to either side. He looked like a bear. He fell in, but didn't expect the water to be so hot, and jumped out immediately. I remember that real well.
If I'm not crying, I'm numb. I'm numb a lot lately. The neighbor made a little marker for him- it's a cross made of iron and "Bill" is written across the top in a thick wire (the most popular of all his nicknames). Even the "i" is dotted and held in place with fishing wire. Just the night before, I read an article about a close friend's mother. She had won the million dollar Publisher's Clearing House prize and blew every cent gambling. (Her daughter was the one who answered the door in her towel in the commercial, if you can remember that far back. That's Courtney.) I was thinking that if we ever won the lottery, I'd get a real marker for Will. That prayer has been answered.
I would have thought that he'd be gone after the third day. They stay for a bit, then they leave. I don't know where to. Bill hasn't left yet. When I was washing my face, I felt him walk across my feet. I felt his little paws as they passed and heard his nails click against the tile. He's still here.
I've taken a couple of sleeping pills. I need to sleep better. And I'm still praying that he'll be the black dog I see when I die.
Wineberry · Thu Jul 20, 2006 @ 09:37am · 0 Comments |
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I just want to write about him.
Will isn't one in a million. If you searched anywhere in the world, past, present or future, you'd never find another like him. He loved watching sunrises. He bit my mom once when she was feeding him. After that, he felt so bad that he never did it again. He would take a piece of candy from a dish once every couple of weeks so as not to get caught. He didn't really bark-- it was more of a "woh woh woh" sound. He could see things. He'd bark at the lights that weren't really there. He refused to eat his peas and when Mom lit her cigarette after dinner, he knew it was his turn to eat. He'd bark good and hard after that. He'd only get on the table if Dad wasn't in the room, and if we'd say "Daddy's coming," he'd immediately look at the stairs (where he was most likely to be coming from). He was bilingual and could spell a few words (o-u-t-s-i-d-e, f-o-o-d, t-r-e-a-t, amongst others). I can't even begin to describe how gentle he was. He loved his cats and they loved him. Everyone did. Actually, they still do.
It hurts to talk about him in the past tense.
His mother pawed at his grave and laid on it for a long time. She's now following me around very closely. The other night, she sat on the porch (where he'd watch the sun rise) and waited for him. His brother is listless and his sister's been having nightmares every night since. Winny was Will's cat, and he was gone when he died. He's been looking for him. When I took him to the grave today, he let out a few wimpering meows, pawed at it, then laid on top of it.
Mom said he was bad before I got home... on the brink of death. I had prayed that he'd be okay until I got back. He got better after that. I got to spend almost a month with him.
He's still around. Our animals always stay around for a little while after. We all saw Calvin for a long time after his death (6 months?) and Georgia for a bit after hers (about a week). I haven't seen Will, but I've heard him. I'm not sure how much to chalk up to grief, but one today was shared.
The night he died, I heard him panting. The second night, I heard him sit down in front of the bathroom door and sigh, just like he always did. I saw two little balls of light, but I'm not certain whether it was "there" or my mind playing tricks on me. The real proof came today. We used to get our beef from the market and would give the dogs the big bones. Will loved 'im. He liked leaving them everywhere. When Mom would pick them up and put them in their plastic container, he would watch until she finished, then go and tip them over again. He's done that for a good eight years and did it just last week. They were his bones, and we buried the whole box with him.
We heard him do it today. Both of us. If I could measure a sound, it would have been a little over an inch. It didn't register until Mom came in about four seconds later to tell me she heard him tip over his bones. I'd heard it. And so did she.
Another thing that I can't figure out. Mom and I came back yesterday from visiting the neighbor's dog while they're on vacation. She said she had to roll up the windows. We were parked next to our truck at the time. I assumed she meant the windows on both the car and the truck, since hers was the only one rolled down. When I look over at the truck, it just so happened that the windows were cracked. I got out and went over to the truck. I opened the door and grabbed the key (We leave it on the dashboard. We're in Eastern Montana.) and she asked what I was doing. I told her I was rolling up the windows and turned the truck on. Between the time it took me to turn on the car, roll up the windows, and turn it off again, the CD player played two lines from the song "Ohio is for Lovers" by "Hawthorne Heights." They were cut cleary. There was no end of a word at the start, nor any beginning of another at the end.
"I'll wait for you
But I can't wait forever."
I would have chalked this one up to being oversensitive from grief, but I saw the look on Mom's face when I turned around. She got it, too. I can't really tell what it means. There are several possibilities.
One more thing. I had a dream last night. We had had a storm, and the wind knocked over a tree. I was scared that it had fallen on top of William's grave. Mom told me, "No, it's okay. Dad took care of it." I then saw that the tree was laying parallel to his grave, about a foot away. Will is buried right outside my parent's window, no more than eight inches from the house. Between his grave and the house was a slope of dirt that leaned against the house. This was Dad's way of protecting him. I didn't understand it in the dream and I can't understand it now.
I'm not going to check this for spelling. I told Trudy (his mom) I'd be back soon. She's depressed and I want to stay with her. I'm going to keep my eyes open for signs of Will.
Just before they die, many, many people see a black or grey dog. Bill was black. I've been praying that when I die, he'll be the one to come for me.
Wineberry · Tue Jul 18, 2006 @ 10:32am · 0 Comments |
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I really, really love my dog. In fact, it's hard to think of him as just a dog- rather he's someone that loves you unconditionally, is always there for you, and will always listen to you and comfort you.
I watched his birth and today, I've watched his death. After ten years, Will's the first of our litter to die. He had a heart attack. My parents and I were with him in his last hours, and his last act was to lick my hand. And then he died.
I'm broken. I'm empty. I can't even begin to describe this saddness. Even now, his little body is laying behind me in the foyer under the bench. His face has been covered with a white cloth and over that, a light blue blanket covers his body. I've been petting him at each passing, but am becoming more reluctant as his body's becoming hard. We'll bury him tomorrow. My little boy is dead.
I've been crying for thirteen hours now- ever since I found out how sick he really was. I expect I'll cry more a lot longer. The candle I've lit for him is getting low... I can't make it real. I keep crying and talking about how hard I prayed for him. And still, I have to remind myself why it is that I'm crying. Why it is I'm saying the things I am. I want to hold him again. I want my baby back.
Animals have souls. No one who's owned a dog could tell me that isn't true. There's even a line in the Bible that says just that. (Carpathians?) We even see them around the house for a little while after they die. We did Calvin and Georgia. And my mother's even described to me the souls of birds. And if I'm schizophrenic, then so are my parents, siblings, half-siblings, in-laws, nephews, uncles, grandparents, my art teacher, seven of my friends (that I know of), my staff, my sister's best friend, and even my dogs. There's not a person on this earth who could convince me that Will doesn't have a soul. All you had to do is take one look at him and it was obvious.
I can't imagine the days ahead of me. I can't imagine living without him. My nose is raw and my eyes sting like they were ground in salt. I'm going to be in mourning for a long, long time. And I never want another dog again. I can't bear this.
Wineberry · Sun Jul 16, 2006 @ 08:22am · 1 Comments |
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I have spent the last fourteen hours watching Bleach.
Half the time, I was just waiting for an appearance of Hitsugaya. And since I've yet to read the manga, I'm pleased to find out that I'm gonna see a lot more of the little p***k.
Ugh. I'm so damned predictable.
Wineberry · Wed May 31, 2006 @ 07:40am · 2 Comments |
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What I'm about to do will sound like a big ego trip to the lot of you, but if I can't be honest here, then maybe you shouldn't be reading other people's journals. -_-;
I've lived a truly blessed life. The very year I was born was the year my father started earning a six figure salary, both my parents were loving and spoiled me well, I've traveled extensively, and always received positive reinforcement for every good thing I did. And as for the negative, well... those went unnoticed. I've experienced more in eight years than most will in a lifetime. I'm a supposed genius (As if IQ means anything, it's officially 150. The online tests persistently tell me 172.), which I exploited to my greatest extent during the majority of my career as a student. People tell me I'm very pretty and that I've artist talent, though I've never felt comfortable accepting compliments on either as, in my distorted perception, I fail to see the value nor presence thereof. The one death I've known was that of my first dog. Other than that, there has been no heartbreak in my life.
The last one is that which bothers me the most. I've yet to experience a human death. That means the worst is still to come. In addition, like all things in this mortal world, everything I've had will die. Being the youngest, I'll be the one to watch the entirety of my family grow old and die, and with that goes all the loving-care I've known from this world. And when I myself grow old, I'll witness the decline of all my gains and givens, but be unable to do a thing to retain any of them. Of course, the body dies, but with it will go the abstract mind. Already, I've noticed I can no longer see things in the light I once did as a child, and it plagues me. And my experiences, which I've always told myself that no one will ever be able to take from me, I'll take from myself.
All of this is yet to come.
I know there's nothing I can do, I know that dwelling on it won't help, but I really can't control where my concerns lie. Perhaps from an outside perspective, it's far worse to have never known any of these things, but when it's you... it's upsetting. It's scary. And I'll just have to sit there and watch it all happen. My life is going to die and I'll just have to face it.
Again, yeah, if there's nothing I can do, why worry about it? If you can worry about things that might happen, why can't I worry about things that are going to happen? It's not like you can control my flow of consciousness, so why bother? If I want to think of my own mortality, I'll be damned if you say I can't. It's a more pressing matter than what ******** movie you should rent at Blockbuster this weekend.
s**t. I went from sad to pissed. I didn't mean to do that.
I don't know. It just seems like I've already lived a lifetime and it's all downhill from here. I know there'll be some peaks, but refer to paragraph two and tell me how it could get any better.
And for the record, that's rhetorical.
Wineberry · Sat May 27, 2006 @ 02:56pm · 1 Comments |
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As we all know, the frontman of Fuel took off a while back to join Circus Diablo. Or maybe we don't. I don't remember. In any case, they've offered the position to that Chris Daughtry guy.
I hope he takes it.
I really do.
'Cause as much as I hate American Idol, I love that man's voice. Love, love, love. And if I have to go the rest of my life without hearing it again, I will be a very sad little girl. I mean, damn. If he sounds that good live, I can't begin to imagine what he'll sound like canned.
Yee, says I! >0<
Wineberry · Thu May 18, 2006 @ 08:03am · 0 Comments |
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