Beautiful red flowers at heart.

Photo copyright Aji, 2019; all rights reserved.

Raven's cactus, the one Mark gave us for him yesterday: a little spiky, like Raven himself, but with beautiful red flowers at heart.

Yesterday was the right day and time (and it's what I meant in yesterday's post about "anticipatory"), but the void is enormous. I went outside for a few moments, and coming back in, I found myself starting to greet him aloud, as I always did. The thing with Raven is that, since before the first of the year, yesterday was always inevitable; it was only a question of when. And knowing that, and watching as his body increasingly tired and he spent more and more hours either asleep or close to it, we always wanted him to have the knowledge that we loved him squarely in the forefront  of his mind in case he slipped away. And so every time I walked past him, or went in and out of the house, I would always call him by name and tell him I loved him, so that no matter what happened in the intervening moments, he would feel it.

I hadn't realized how ingrained the habit had become.

The good thing is that he didn't suffer; he got to squeeze every ounce of happiness out of his life, and he got to live it to the very end on his terms. We were prepared to take this step sooner if necessary, but our promise to him was that as long as he was not in pain, as long as he was engaged and found joy in life and wanted to be with us, we would put in whatever work was required of us to make that happen. And it was a lot of work, but it was what he wanted, and we were able to give it to him.

And I will be calling his name and telling him I love him as I go in and out for weeks yet, probably. Old habits die hard, especially those rooted in love.



All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2019; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.