The One With The Ashes

I've been wanting to write about this for a while but since I haven't been writing at all lately, I kind of forgot about it. I was telling a friend about it today, so I'm going to write this before I forget again.

If you missed the post, Phoebe (our 18-year old cat) passed away in November. (The post is here.) We made the decision to euthanize her when we took her to the vet (she looked terrible and seemed to be in pain... the vet agreed it was time).

I know I just wrote Phoebe's backstory in the post about her, but a relevant tidbit here is how Phoebe came to be our cat. A mom in the MOMS Club I was in while my kids were little was looking for a home for a stray cat that her sister had taken in. We only had Chandler at the time, so we decided we wanted her.

Rose made this little stuffed Phoebe for me for Christmas! The little box contains Phoebe's ashes.

Side note: How CUTE is that teeny tiny vase? It's literally a vase for cat whiskers. BAHAHA, I got it for Jerry for Christmas. [If you know, you know.]

She had definitely had a rough start to life--half of her tail was missing (the tip of what was left felt bent, and I imagine that maybe it was slammed in a door) and she had what felt like a BB (like for a BB gun) under her skin in her chest area. We never knew if it was actually a BB, but that's exactly what it felt like, so we assumed she'd been shot at some point. Poor cat!

Anyway, we talked about Phoebe's BB here and there throughout the years (she was about a year old when we got her). The curiosity drove me crazy sometimes--it felt so close to the surface of her skin, and I just wanted to pluck it out and know!

As morbid as it sounds, I'd always planned to ask the vet if they could remove it after she died. I wanted it for some odd reason. However, after the emotional euthanasia visit, the last thing I was thinking about was asking for the BB. When I realized it the next day, I figured it was too late (and definitely a creepy thing to ask on the phone) so I forgot about it.

Until a few weeks later, when I was looking for a spot to put her ashes. The thought of the BB popped into my head again, and I got the idea to look for it in her ashes. I *know* this is weird! I really do. But my curiosity was killing me. I opened up the urn and used a magnet to sift through the ashes.

To be honest, I didn't actually even believe that they were Phoebe's ashes. How would anyone know if they are getting their pet's ashes? I guess I just pictured the crematorium doing a big cremation and divvying up the ashes to each owner, because nobody would know and it would be cheaper. So I didn't expect to find anything, but I just HAD to look.

And then...

I FOUND IT. It took all of about 10 seconds for the magnet to find it.

It was seriously in her ashes! I can't even describe how I felt when I found it, but it was good. I am still so stunned that it was in there. And I learned that it was, in fact, a BB. 

I wanted to share this not only because it's an interesting story, but because maybe if you have doubts about whether your pet's ashes are really *their* ashes, have faith that they probably are. Obviously crematoriums do their own thing, but maybe this will be a little reassuring. I have solid proof that I do, in fact, have Phoebe's ashes!

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Where to Start...?

I am here and I am alive :)  The longer I go without writing, the harder it is to get in the mood to write. I wish I had lots to say, but I honestly can't come up with much of anything at all to say.

I am not doing well. Physically, I've healed from my surgery. The scar doesn't bother me at all. The loose and puckered skin does, but there is nothing I can do about that. I haven't gone to my six-week post-op visit yet, so I don't know if my thyroid hormones are still normal. I am just really hoping that everything is normal and I don't need medication.

Mentally, I am so angry at myself for completely letting myself go in the summer when my headache started. My non-stop headache for four months gave me an excuse to eat and not exercise. I just couldn't focus on anything when my head was hurting, and I made myself feel better by eating junk. And moving around a lot made it worse, so I was the least active I'd been in a long time.

By the time I got my tooth extracted (effectively killing my headache) I had developed horrible habits that I'm still having a hard time changing. My weight is higher than it's been in probably three years, maybe longer--167. In August, it was 145.

[Because I'm sure someone will mention it, I'm 99% sure that my thyroid had nothing to do with the weight gain. It was my bad eating habits for sure. No excuses there.]

I need to make a plan. I'm miserable at this size, which I know sounds ridiculous considering I used to be like eight sizes larger than this, but I just do not feel good in my own skin. I'm a lot saggier than I was when I was running regularly, which is making me want to start running again. I would be a REAL beginner again--only 15 years older than last time, hahaha.

My clothes don't fit and thrift stores are now very expensive so I'm resisting buying clothes--and holding out hope I can lose enough weight to get back into my wardrobe soon.

Needless to say, I am not happy with myself right now. My psychiatrist just added a medication to hopefully help with this stubborn episode of depression. I don't think I've had an episode like this since before my bipolar diagnosis in 2017.

I would end this with promises of writing again soon, but clearly I cannot hold myself to that! I will definitely try though. I really want to write a plan of action to get my life back on track. We've had mild weather for the last couple of days (after tons of snow and ice and miserable cold all winter) so I am hoping that the change in weather will help my mood, too!

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