Helpless as a Kitten

My heart sank when I saw April's pictures on Facebook. A tiny gray, cream-dappled kitten, sitting on my front bench in one shot; curled up on the deflated Rankin-and-Bass-style Rudolph lawn decoration in the other.

I immediately commented, "This cat is just hanging around OUTSIDE the house, right?"

April replied, "yeah, we didn't take it inside, it's just chillin'."

A small sigh of relief. Didn't need another mouth to feed. Probably a neighbor's kitten, out exploring. Of course, that night, with temperatures in the 30's, it ran out of nowhere and was nearly hit by my husband's van. A quick scoop and two melted hearts later, the kitten was resting in my dog's kennel, relocated to my nieces' bedroom, waiting to be discovered by the girls when they woke up in the morning. Nick and I had no idea what we were going to do -- try to integrate it into our household, keep it in my nieces' little apartment, or find a home or shelter. But for now, everyone was safe and warm and well-fed, and it seemed that would be good enough.

I put out of my mind, which I unfortunately found easier to do, because of the Sandy Hook shooting. I couldn't leave work early, but it shook me to my core. You can't read about the death of children and not be affected in some way. But with the recent break-in at my house, and with the school so similar to Mina's, her being just in second grade... how easily it could have been her. I knew my grief, so distant to the tragedy, was only a pale shadow to the anguish of each parent or sibling in Newtown. But I felt on the edge of drowning, regardless. Walking home from the bus stop was a tremendous effort. I fought collapsing to the ground, as melodramatic as it sounds; it was as if this had opened the floodgate on deeper grief, dark despair I had relegated to the future, knowing I needed to deal with it someday, but couldn't afford to deal with it right then. But Newtown made that someday become right now. 

I brushed off my nieces after a tight hug. Knowing they were safe did nothing to help. I knew from recent events that being home was no guarantee of safety. I keenly felt how out of my control everyone's safety was, that however diligent I was, I never could guarantee they would be safe. Hugging them exacerbated my panic; I wondered, reflexively, when it would be that I would hug them for the last time, and not know it was the last.

I was deflating quickly, and made it to the bed just in time for all my bones to liquify. I will admit, I wallowed. I dragged forward scenes and situations, emotions and dark terrible thoughts that I had pushed back for a few months and let it hollow me out.

I had hoped I might at least feel empty afterward, but half an hour of crying, for yourself and your faults and the broken, horrible world, is hardly enough to feel everything, let alone heal from it. I just came away thinking about immense suffering, and how I could never fix it all, and I felt ashamed for my helplessness, and I grieved.

I heard the kitten mewing from across the hall, and as my nieces were in the living room, I let myself in, and scooped up the kitten who would be named Luma. She lavished me with purrs, and kneaded with tiny prickling claws, and she suckled at my fingertips, and licked at my nose, and let me cradle her like a baby and gently rest my forehead on hers as she slept. I had a thought which could be dangerous, but comforted me nonetheless. I do what I can; I can help this kitten, and my nieces, and my sister in law, and I can write, and give some peace and hope in writing. I put the kitten to bed in the kennel, and went back to my Fantasy Children's Book, which is, in the end, the only way I have of conveying the Big Truths to my nieces; which is the point of ANY fairy tale, really. As Neil Gaiman said, Make Good Art. I will try.