Spooky! Post #8

          As I mentioned in my other postings, Spooky, a black cat, came with the house that we are currently living in. When I had first looked at the pictures of this house online, there was Spooky sitting in the driveway underneath the branches of the Live Oak. The surrealistic surroundings (to a northerner anyway) make me think of some faraway past and the ghosts of those who have passed through this place. Spooky fits right into that. His cigarette and whiskey sounding voice and jagged edge ears due to his frequent “barroom brawls” of which we are certain he wins, emanates a maturity and wisdom that is only gained by experience. As I said before, I’m still not sure that he isn’t the reincarnate of a previous owner of this house, one who, like myself, thrives on the Live Oaks, Magnolia trees and the sweet smell of flowers that permeates the air for 12 months out of the year. I didn’t know when I met Spooky, what a crucial role he would play when my Mom was dying and how his wise advice and his faithful presence would help me through such a devastating time.

Chuck & Mom

The last time I spent time quality time with Mom – after her brain injury – was October 3, 2008. We had driven three and a half hours east, along the coast, over to Panama City, Florida,   just as we had several times since moving here. That Saturday, we had taken Mom to the boardwalk on Panama City Beach. It was in the upper 70’s and sunny so we stayed outside the whole afternoon and evening, walking, having Starbucks and later dinner outside while listening to a band. There were many bands and types of music that day, each which, as we walked the boardwalk, took us to different times in our lives, just as the three ghosts of Christmas’s past had taken Scrooge.

     At sunset, we took mom across the street to the beach and wheeled her down as far as the boardwalk would take us and stayed until the sun  melted into gulf. The salty breeze blew Mom’s hair off her face revealing her smooth, beautiful skin that she was always known for. Her sunglasses made her look so much like the Mom of pre-2004. Many people stared that night and I secretly wondered if the strangers who looked on also knew that this would be the last sunset that Mom would see. For some reason, I knew it would be the last time we would ever take a walk, or eat together, or silently walk down memory lane. The gentle wind, the salt air, and the white sand that laced the streets all reminded me that we were at a place that both Mom and I love, the ocean. We asked her several times if she was ready to go home – though I wasn't ready -and she said no. She, too, wanted to stay out. So, out we stayed till 11:30 that night when the band shut down. I’m pretty certain that Mom knew too, that this was her last band, the last sunset that she would see. If there was ever a time I felt a part of unspoken communication, this was it.

The following weekend, I received a call that Mom had to be hospitalized. Again, I packed and headed to Panama City. I was shocked, but yet I wasn't,  at the grim prognosis. They could give her surgery, which would prolong her life for 2-4 days, long enough for family to arrive and say goodbye. Without surgery, she had hours. We opted for the surgery and called in the family. Mom hung at deaths door as grandchild after grandchild flew in to say their goodbyes. Yet, after two weeks, Mom was still hanging in there AND communicating with us. She told us that she did not want to die. We knew it was inevitable.

After two weeks the family dynamics and the stress of trying to keep my daughter in school in a town where we knew few people to ask to keep her was too much. I decided to take a few days break hoping that Mom wouldn't pass when I was gone. I needed to get back to Mobile, my Mobile, a place where I found rest and solace and could renew my energy.

When I arrived home that night, there was a beautiful gift, a hanging star candle-holder on my porch left by a neighbor. As beautiful as that was, it was the first time I realized that I just didn't have anyone here who I knew well enough to pour my heart out to and have a good cry. My body was tense and ached with stress and my heart was breaking in my chest. I had gone out onto the porch, still too stressed to cry and that made it much worse. I’m not a crier; therefore, it is often long overdue when it does come. On this warm, sultry night, I sat alone on the porch staring at the starry sky and aching to be sitting with Mom. That was until something tapped on my face.


Jarred into the present moment, I looked and there was Spooky, whom had blended into the darkness. He began his trademark, rubbing his face on mine. At that point, I burst out crying and Spooky took that as an invitation to sit on my lap. I took him in my arms and for the next hour, Spooky just sat there letting me hug him and rubbing his face on mine as I sobbed and sobbed; the first time since late 2004. That was when I stood over Mom’s bed on the night before my Step mom’s funeral and realized that Sally was dead and Mom was never going to get better. I sobbed in much the same way back then, as Mom stared up at me but was unable to offer comfort. I shook and sobbed and kept telling her, “Mom, I just want you to get better!”; A wish that never came true.

          So here I was, at the end of the journey that began in 2004. Now it was Mom who was dying. And here was Spooky, always there to have morning coffee with me on the porch, or to listen to the birds, or keep me company when I did yard work. In my darkest hour he was there, meowing with his mature, wise voice and holding my face so that I looked into his eyes. He really does that! He made it clear that he was in this for the long haul! He would stay there with me as long as I needed him to sit with me while I cried. At that moment in time, there was nobody in the whole wide world that was more important than Spooky! He was my best friend!