the_siobhan: It means, "to rot" (Default)
Fiona Ann McLoughlin Memorial Walk



I haven't really blogged about this before now because I didn't have the heart. I ended up driving my mother out to the Bruce Trail walk, and although the event for her was less of a hike and more of a picnic, it still ended up being a decent distraction from the occasion.

My sister is still on the walk in Spain for a couple more weeks. She's posting pics to the FaceBook group.

Donations

My thanks to those who have already donated, and to those who couldn't donate but sent love and best wishes instead.
the_siobhan: (blank)
We had to put Feargal down yesterday. When I got up in the morning he was limp and although he came around a bit when I stroked him he wasn't able to pull himself up to even a sitting position. He spent the day at the vet getting fluids in the hopes that he would rally but he just had too many things going on. I'm having him cremated and I'm going to take his ashes to Fiona's grave.

It was very quiet in the house this morning.

My mother asked me to help her get out the last of the thank you notes from the funeral, and I've finally gotten that finished. That was hard because it was hard for my mother. I also spent some of last weekend helping my dad paint Fiona's condo to get it ready for market. That actually ended up being less difficult than I thought it would be; since she never had people over I have no memories of her associated with that place.

So if anybody local is looking for a one-bedroom near the Village let me know.

I offered to help with more painting tomorrow but I'm kind of hoping my dad doesn't take me up on it. I could use a lie-in.

So you know, November can suck a dick too.
the_siobhan: (blank)
I had a dream last night where Fiona showed up at some family do. I was the only one who could see her. We sat among the tables covered in stacks of dirty glasses and half-eaten food and talked.

"You of all people should know that I'm OK," she told me.

Fucked up as it is, I think that actually helps.
the_siobhan: (Mistgeburt)
As of Monday Axel and I have adopted my sister's cat Ferghal. He is a lovely old man; sweet, affectionate and shy. Late last night he decided that we were safe enough to come out and ask for pets and he purred like a wee motor for us. He's still pretty skittish, but he's only been here a couple of days so I'm sure he'll get over that given time.

I don't know for sure how old he is, but I'm positive he's well into senior citizen territory. The one thing that worries me is that he is emptying his water dish on a daily basis and judging from the state of his litter box he's peeing a lot. Most cats I've known don't drink that much water, so I'm worried about diabetes or kidney issues.

He's also bony and eating like a horse, but that may be just because he wasn't getting enough food for the last few weeks. (He's a big husky dude with a pot belly and a fluffy coat, so he looks fat. But his spine and ribs are way too pronounced for my liking when you actually touch him.) His fecal output seems normal for the amount of food he's taking in, but boy howdy is he stinky. I bought the same brands that we found in her kitchen cupboard, but I may do some experimenting with his food to make him a little less fragrant.

So my mission today is to try and track down his previous vet. I'm going to take him to a local vet regardless, but if I can find somebody that has some history on him then the fewer blood tests etc that they'll have to do, and the better it will be for his stress levels.

So advice time please. Recommendations for taking care of an older cat. Things to ask the vet about. Warning signs to look out for. Hit me please.
the_siobhan: (blank)
You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.

And at one point you'd hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him/her that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let him/her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her/his eyes, that those photons created within her/him constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.

And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.

And you'll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they'll be comforted to know your energy's still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you're just less orderly.

Amen.


~Aaron Freeman

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