Transitional Moments

Every life is made up of many transitional moments. Sometimes, they're big, you can see them coming. Graduation, marriage, the birth of a child, moving to a new place, the loss of a loved one after a long illness...events that you can somewhat plan for and - depending on the promise they hold -prepare yourself to either embrace or endure them. Other moments are small, possibly existing only a few seconds in time, yet their impact is no less important, they too represent a change in the world, that is impossible to undo. My small observation this week has to do with those small moments where time wrinkled itself into a new direction that I have no choice but to follow.

I remember with crystalline clarity one such moment on a quiet Sunday morning last February.  Curled up in bed, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other, I would periodically gaze out my window to wonderful Maine street below then glance over at Synge and Faelina napping softly by my feet, before turning my attention once more to the pages before me. Faelina shifted suddenly causing me to look up and when I did I saw, not the baby kitten I'd been living with the past seven months, but the adult cat she had, seemingly in a second, grown into. Her attitude and antics were still kittenlike (in truth they still are) but I was reluctantly forced to face the sad truth that my 'kitten' was disappearing, and that fact made my heart cry. I learned to embrace that though, and to enjoy the two wonderful adult cats that made my heart whole every day.

This past week, I was standing at Steph's kitchen sink washing my dishes. I briefly paused my concentration to move my gaze up and over to the entrance of the hall leading to my room. Synge was sitting there, quietly observing the room while trying to determine which spot would make the best bed at that particular moment. I think that likely she would have looked perfectly normal to any other person familiar with her sweet face and remarkably striking green eyes. To me though she was different, changed. She seemed slightly diminished, a touch more delicate. My Synge, the one who has been with me through college, the death of my dad, two moves across the country, and my battle with anorexia had, seemingly in a second, become old. Now thankfully she is not ancient, and I think we still have years ahead of us before time presents us with that final goodbye. Still, I know now we're closer to it's coming. I know I now have to worry more, pay closer attention, to whether or not she's healthy, pain free, and happy. I wouldn't trade the day we chose to adopt her for anything, but having harsh reality remind me that she won't be with me always, absolutely causes my heart to weep.