Anyone who has lost a pet must know the grief that has befallen me this week with the death of my beloved cat, Rocky. I had Rocky for 14 years. I won't trivialize her or her passing with all the usual platitudes. Suffice it to say, I'm struggling to take one step then another and another. Tears flow at the thought of her and still I move one foot in front of the other again and again and; I am reminded of the struggle and strength and tears it took for me to learn to take that first step after my stroke. Then I had to learn to live without as well, but then it was without the use of half of my body. My memories of Rocky will always live inside me as will the memories of having use of my whole body. I will always know the taste of the grief of these losses.
If history serves I will also know, once again, that each step forward gets a bit easier, a bit less wobbly as long as I'm willing to take that step. If I allow it, I am certain I will be swallowed up by grief. I know I'm not headed in that direction no matter how forced my actions need to be right now because last week I began scheduling my "One Hand Can Cook!" presentations again for stroke support groups and rehab facilities. If I reach out my hand someone will take it. In offering support I receive it.
I am grateful for the years I had with Rocky and for the strength I have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.