Of life and death

Four tit mice, 2 chickadees and 2 nuthatches. That's the sum total of birds that have been eating seeds at my window this morning. While they are busy getting their nourishment, flitting in and out of the woods to momentarily stare at me with curiosity before disappearing, I've been busy getting ready to return to our city home.

It's cleaning day at the apartment. Now that the throw rugs are washed, the carpets have been twice vacuumed and deodorized, and the tile floors are sparkling like new, I can sit down and take a break before finalizing all of the packing of totes and getting of car and ushering of dogs and filling up of car and getting on the road.

Earlier this morning, as my husband and I walked the dogs, we came upon a dead cat in the parking lot, one we hadn't seen at that spot the previous evening when we returned from walking the dogs before bedtime. We couldn't figure out what had caused its untimely death but we knew that we couldn't leave it where it was. Not only would it start rotting soon in the expected heat of the day, but the posses of crows that patrol the area would soon make use of it and not in a pleasant way for human eyes.

We borrowed a shovel and my husband buried the cat in the woods, placing a large dead trunk on top of the spot where it now lies. "Dust to dust, ashes to ashes," I murmured, as my husband climbed back up the ravine and got ready to go.

"I hope tomorrow is a day I don't have to bury anyone," he said.

"Who did you bury yesterday?" I asked, foolishly.

"My grand-aunt," he reminded me.

My husband came to visit us last night straight after her funeral. His grand-aunt was a lovely old widow, who during her life rescued an inordinate amount of animals and who always had a kind word and thought for everyone around her. Having no children of her own, she loved my husband dearly and he attended to her with the same care and love that he bestows on his grandmothers.

When I came into the family, his grand-aunt made a point to always remember my birthday and sent me a card every year to Puerto Rico and then here in Ohio, until she was too frail and ill to do so. She also included a little present in her cards. I always appreciated the thoughtfulness and the desire to make me feel appreciated that led her to go through all that needless trouble. I surely didn't expect such attentions from her. They were always a pleasant and sweet surprise.

I guess life and death are inevitable parts of each day we spend on this earth. But some days we are reminded of this truth more sharply than in others.

As I get ready to go home with the doggies, I like to think that my husband's grand-aunt, and even the big cat we just buried, are now happy in whatever place awaits all souls beyond this often bittersweet one.