Of Love and Loss

Tom, also known as Tommy the Cat, 
Major Tom, Thomas A Cattus and Meowsolini

I knew it had been a while since I last posted, but until a friend and reader mentioned it I didn't realize that my last post was in August. Good heavens. I know why, though. A couple of weeks after my last blog post, my dear orange tabby cat Tom died. He was the most human cat I have ever known. He had a habit of waving at me or tapping me on the shoulder. And he was a chatty cat -- he had long conversations with my housemate and me. He loved to snuggle, too, and I remember the last time I asked him if he loved me, he meowed once and put his paw on my arm. He died here at home, in my arms, and I had him cremated. In honor of his talent for waving at me, I have a golden Maneki Neko coin bank on top of his box of ashes, like a tombstone.

About a week after Tom died, one of my best friends lost her mother to cancer. That was hard for a lot of people in a lot of ways. Her mother was a talented, generous, loving, bright soul who touched a lot of lives. The memorial service for her was a fitting celebration of her life, with music and food and people sharing stories and laughing and crying together in a room filled with her creations -- blankets and moppets she'd crocheted, photos, things she'd written, and memories that her friends and loved ones shared. Memories are among the beautiful things people create for each other.

That same month, an old friend of mine died. We hadn't seen each other in at least a decade but when we were close, he was very kind and supportive when I needed someone to be kind and supportive, and I've never forgotten it. I rode to Wharton with a couple of other friends to attend the memorial service.

October is my birth month, and though I did a lot of self-pampering, I didn't feel much like celebrating. I have a pinata sitting in my front room that I had thought about filling with candy and tiny bottles of liquor and inviting people over for a party, but losing my eldest fur-baby and two dear friends knocked the wind out of my sails. Then we had what I think was our second hundred-year flood this year, damaging homes that were just beginning to come back together after the floods over Memorial Day weekend.

The bar's red door ain't dere no more. 

In November, the news broke that Triple Crown, our beloved watering hole and the live music capital of San Marcos, would be closing in December to relocate, though when and where the new place will open is still unknown.

Beyond being a fine music venue that offered the best quality and best variety of bands I have ever seen, Triple Crown was kind of the glue that held the community of musicians and artists and bohemians of various sorts together. If you wanted to see people you knew, that's where you went. Without that central spot, that nucleus, holding us together, most of us are now communicating with each other through Facebook, like savages, although there have been a few outings and gatherings of Triple Crown folk so we can hang out live and in person. The Lost Tribe of the Triple Crown awaits the opening of the shiny new incarnation of our home.

"You shall love your crooked neighbor
with your crooked heart." - W.H. Auden

Through all of this, the one thing that has held me up -- that has held up my friends and other members of my community -- is love. The love we have for our town, our community, each other -- the basic human decency and compassion that comes to the surface during times of loss and need. I'm immensely grateful that San Marcos is full of that kind of love. Love is what forms the bond between human and pet, and simply having an animal to love unconditionally is a wonderful gift. Love is what brought friends and family together to celebrate my friend's mother's life and all of her wonderful gifts. Love is what inspired some friends and I to pile into a car and drive all the way to Wharton to say goodbye to a good man. Love is what motivated people to help their flooded neighbors. Love is what keeps local musicians going out to the pile of bricks formerly known as the Triple Crown and playing music there to keep the bar's streak of consecutive days of live music alive. (Yes, that is actually happening.)

What I've seen and experienced in the last few months has given me the shocking idea that even in the worst of times, nobody ever has to be totally alone.