Day Twelve – Level 2 Pain


I am awake, I am alive, and here I sit, contemplating the reality and the pain of the last 24 hours.

Truth be told, to be a parent is to know two levels of pain – the first level pain we experience as we go about living and loving on our own journeys and the just-as-painful second level – the pain of living and loving we experience because our children are in pain.

Yesterday, my son said good-bye to one of his children, the furry kind, a cat that has traveled with him and moved with him, a companion that has been with him in good times and bad, a friend that offered nothing less than unconditional acceptance and love.

As a result of my son’s pain, my day quickly disintegrated into one marked by periods of intermittent tears, often brought on by the sight of my own elderly fur ball. To feed her, was to think of food dishes now empty in my son’s home. To cuddle with her, was to think of how much my son must wish he still could. To hear her meow, was a reminder of another now silenced.

Today life goes on, as it always does, in spite of a pain that felt strong enough to stop the planet’s very rotation. But it isn’t and it doesn’t because it’s just another day, as yet another human tries to adjust to a new normal.

Today a prayer for all we love and for all of us who do the loving. Let us cherish every sound, every conversation, every day together no matter what form our friend may take, no matter what sound they make.

Because when they are gone, the pain is the same.

Be well my friend.


I love you.