When Life is a Test

“Grief is an expression of love.
Each time you feel new grief for someone or something,
it touches the other layers of grief
that you have experienced..”

— Leslie Yerkes

 

Over the December holidays, my life was upended with a final, unplanned interruption. If 2024 were a movie, my coming attraction clip would be “You are not in control! Expect the unexpected.”

Not all of the unplanned interruptions were unwelcome or extremely challenging. There are always positive surprises every day if you are open to seeing them.

However, in the context of being in the fourth year of the effects of a pandemic with the need to reinvent, rekindle relationships, and practice resiliency, my edges were frayed. I experienced a series of unplanned interruptions that came steadily into my life and required me to shift much of my attention to what felt like a perpetual crisis.

I am a list maker, planner, and over-prepared person. So, I tend to embrace the occasional crisis. I don’t procrastinate; so when the ‘wheels fall off’ the workday, or the plan that’s in place, I will be able to shoulder the unexpected. That seems to be the nature of my world and my work in the field of change management.

When times are challenging it provides the opportunity for each of us to be on our learning edge. In 2024 mine was feeling tired and tested. I chose not to let hardship scar me but to look for lessons to strengthen my character, develop new competencies and coping skills, and practice my ability to be self-aware and assert self-control. This year, an unrelenting series of events tested my ability to hold my ground and maintain my balance.

Laughingly — I also choose humor in tough times — 2024 ended with another challenge in the form of another unplanned, unexpected situation that was ripe with big decisions about life, death, safety, and how to find and deploy resources.

I love a good, thinking project. I like to find solutions to complex situations. I am grateful that I have tools in my repertoire and a great deal of practice. Yet I wasn’t prepared for what appeared in my life and on my back porch on a cold, December morning.

If you love a good story, read on.
If you want the universal lessons I plucked out of the situation, skip to the last few paragraphs.

On December 21, a starving, freezing kitty chose my back porch in a fenced back yard to shelter — and likely possibly die. In the early morning, our household routine includes letting the dogs out into the backyard and starting the day. I did not expect them and me to encounter another live animal within feet of the back door. Though my dogs have had a household kitty friend in the past, the dogs now have a pack mentality that over-road their programming and they went into primal reactions and attack mode. So, did I.

I did not think. I did not run the scenarios. I reacted from my experience, character, and values. I kicked the dogs away,  grabbed the cat, held it over my head, and hoped to save its life.

One of my dogs has learned to hold onto a leg when scared, so he wouldn’t let go of the cat. The cat was being injured by the dog. The dog was being bitten by the cat. And when I was able to get the dog to let go, the cat bit me.

What felt like forever was short minutes of movement, yelling, screaming, (which the neighbors heard and alerted the police – thank you) and moment-by-moment recalculating my movement that would keep everyone safe — my dogs, the cat, and me.

In my PJs, I managed to navigate the house, holding the cat above my head while returning three times for the phone, car keys, wallet, and coat. I left a pack of dogs at home in a state of heightened frenzy in a safe space, warmed the car, wrapped the cat in a blanket — I always carry one in the car — wrapped my bitten finger, and headed to the local ER and then the Vet.

As I was pulling out of the driveway, I noticed two police cars driving slowly down the street. I knew they were responding to my cries and screams. I identified myself to the two officers. It is especially nice to live in a small community where the police know you well. I let them know what had happened. I asked them to let the neighbors know that I had been attacked in my backyard and asked them to watch over my home as the front doorknob of this older home had decided to stop working on this very morning.

I knew I had to go to the ER. A friend who was previously bitten by her barn cat when it was injured had developed a deadly infection. I called the vet’s office along the way. I was now into multi-tasking, in list-making mode, clear of the crisis, and plotting each move carefully.

The time spent waiting in the ER let me post something on Facebook. I knew I would need buckets of help to support this kitty. Eventually, I was treated with a tetanus shot and a round of antibiotics while the kitty huddled in my car.

I arrived at the vet, whose day was being interrupted by my unscheduled visit. He is a good vet and went right to work on this very undernourished, freezing, wounded kitty who was no longer fighting but giving himself over to the care and his caretakers. Once we got past the crisis, this kitty loved being held and talked to. He purred incessantly. At one time, it had been a household cat in my neighborhood. I recognized it because it had scented my fence line and walked my front yard boldly for several years.

The vet had much to do. He attended to the dog bites. The cat received the necessary shots, had hydration and nutrition started, and ear mites expunged. A plan forward — one that included neutering and a bath — was created. At no time did I consider letting the dogs kill the cat – that immediate response was made without thinking. And while at the vet, we discussed all of the options. I did not consider euthanizing the kitty if it wasn’t desperately ill or actively dying.

I didn’t know where the money for the vet bills would come from or how I would find a place for this cat to recover and live another of its nine lives. But, I was prepared to take it one decision and one day at a time.

After I let other people know what I was dealing with, I received:

• Advice – some of it did not consider that I had any experience, some was very helpful, and some was out of alignment with my response.

• Support – emotional, physical, and shared resources and ideas.

• Shared compassion

• And some judgment.

The lessons I received along the way — the benefits of well-shared support and the sting of less-than-thoughtful reactions — were icing on the cake of good effort. I tried to appreciate the first and not respond negatively to the second. When you ask for help, you get a myriad of responses — some helpful, some not. You have to take both with good humor.

I also recognized that when it’s me dealing with something, I may often jump into contributing mode and start the solving before pausing to ask: “How can I support you? What can I do to help?”

Behind my thoughts, recommendations, ideas, and questions are always good intentions. However, my intensity of good intention might not be what the individual needs, wants, or is helpful. I learned this important lesson during the ten days of working on this challenge, while I was settling the kitty into a place where he could recover, gain weight, and find his next forever home.

It was through struggling and asking for help that I discovered that all the foster and rescue organizations were full to the max with cats and dogs. After much effort — and broad communication to engage others in my goal — an ideal placement was found an hour away in a fabulous organization founded more than 20 years ago to support cats. Hats off to Kitten Krazy in Media, Ohio, and friend Bill who introduced me to the founder Wendy, and her army of cat-loving volunteers.

My hand healed. My dog’s cat bites healed. And the cat healed as I sheltered him over the Christmas holiday in my unheated sun porch which caused craziness in my home and dog pack. I canceled a holiday vacation with friends and focused on the priorities in front of me.

Though I had looked up to the sky several times, sharing that I thought that the deal we had was that I would not be given more than I could handle — and I was experiencing a very full plate and starting to lose my sense of balance — the divine responded with warming temperatures for the time the kitty lived with me in my unheated sun porch away from the dogs.

I learned: Ask and you will receive. And I did so in many ways.

I delivered the kitty to the rescue home ten days after the event. I toured the facility and met volunteers all while the cat I named Haka was attended to with great expertise. I am so moved by the dedication and how well-run this organization is that I will be volunteering my time in the future and fulfilling my cat-fix needs while giving back.

Haka wanted to walk and wander, be held and fed. His future looked bright.

I thought about this cat every day after leaving him in good hands. I did not call to check in for almost two weeks. Friends asked about the cat and our journey together. I found myself still shaky and affected by the memory of the starving, freezing kitty under attack. I was giving it time and space for healing while attending to each of the dogs – who had been stirred up as well.

I learned that when you give something all that you have, time is needed to recover and process.

• Do we give ourselves this time and attention while working things out or when times really get tough? Or do we just move on to the next situation?

The times that I have experienced burnout have been when I didn’t pause and assert self-care and self-compassion after a mighty effort, or surmounting a big challenge.

Yet another lesson to add to the pile.

This could be the end of the story. I wish my stories all had happy endings. This one, however, is bittersweet.

When I called the rescue organization this week to inquire about Haka and when I could start my volunteer commitment, I had to leave a message. When my call was returned, a volunteer delivered some news with great sensitivity.

She said that Haka, my recovering kitty, was accepting food and water, being held and visiting with people and cats, had gained some weight, and was beloved by all that met him. But earlier on the day I had called and left my message, he rose from his bed to greet a visitor — and keeled over.

They think that he had a massive heart attack!

The tears came fast and hard.

I had known it was a possibility he would not survive given his condition. But we had come so far in such a short time. Oh my! He was a great cat. He was warm, no longer hungry, and living in a relationship with other cats and loving human friends. He did not suffer or linger. I am grateful, yet still so tearful.

 So, for those who want to visit Universal Lessons of Life, here are mine — as derived from this experience:

• Life feels like a test. When you are not prepared, remember to ask for help.

• If asked for help, recognize that the person in front of you might just need a listening ear and not any advice or your solutions. It is better to ask, “How can I support you? “What do you need?”

• You can only work on one problem or challenge at a time.

• Pause when you can. Recover when you have completed what needs your attention.

• Keep your heart soft for those who do not know how to support you.

• Celebrate the small wins. Grieve the losses. Be grateful for each helping hand.

• There is always more to the story and the journey continues. Grab the lessons and soldier on.

• Life is not easy or fair. Every day an unplanned interruption awaits, try to turn it into something positive.

• We are hopelessly flawed and miraculous in our ability to do remarkable things together.

My life will continue to go forward. I write this blog on a very cold, snowy day that would have ended the kitty’s life if we had not met on 12/21/24. I am grateful for the experience and the new lessons it has given.

I no longer suppress the tears or ignore the grieving moments but open my arms wide to embrace the mixed bag of emotions knowing that like a storm, the intensity of the feeling will lessen and, once again, I will feel the calm.

I do aspire to a new year with fewer unplanned interruptions and life tests.

Let’s see how it goes. I am ready.

Leslie

PS. As I walked to my car in the driveway, there were fresh paw prints in the snow on my front drive. I paused to inspect them. I thought of Haka. Are they kitty paw prints? Or those of a bunny? I can’t tell. I am just happy to know that living beings like my space and I like sharing it. Every animal leaves its paw prints on my heart and soul.

 

“Each new grief touches all previous grieving.
Remember, grief is an expression of love.
The heaviness will pass.
The love will remain.”

— Leslie Yerkes