Hello, Dear Readers. Yes, I am still here. I gave myself until the end of January to get through the first part of the grieving process, and here we are at February 2nd. Tim passed on January 5th, and I know the grieving will continue. I know there will be days when life seems overwhelming. But I want to get back into posting on the Gazette, and today is the day I want to start doing that. Maybe not every day, but most days.
And on the days when I can’t piece together a sentence, maybe I’ll just post a photo or something. Thank you to the folks who sent along photos and stories to post – I appreciate the help with fresh content! Look for those in the coming days. And if you’ve got something to send my way, feel free to email me, [email protected].
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Thank You and How I’m Doing
First, thank you for all the support you’ve given me and the kids – emotional, financial, spiritual and everything in between. As always, we so appreciate all of you every single day. This community, near and far, means so much to me.
And second, how am I doing? Well, about like you’d expect for someone who just lost their partner-in-crime after 42 years together. I’m so grateful for those years, and we had a good long run, considering all the health issues Tim’s had over the years. Both being Old Mission natives with a penchant for telling Old Mission stories, we really were meant for each other, and we were meant to start Old Mission Gazette together.
So it’s been hard, but I’m getting through it. During the first few weeks, all I could do was lie on the couch and watch the Hallmark Channel. Those movies are innocent and always have a happy ending. It’s all I can take at the moment. I’m working my way through “The Good Witch” series, and I’m now way too invested in those characters.
Taking over the wood stove task from Tim has also been good for me, because it gives me a purpose and some structure to the day – get up, get the fire going, keep the fire going, bring wood in, clean the stove out a couple times a week… There is so much to say about the wood stove and the fire, so many life lessons to learn from it. I’ll write more about that in the coming weeks.
Instructions on Cars, Guitars and Firewood
On Tim’s last day here on earth in physical form – Jan. 5, 2022 – our son Will and I went into the hospital to be with him (yes, it was one of those early morning phone calls that everyone dreads). While we were there, we also facetimed with our daughter, who had returned to California after being here over the Christmas break. Thankfully, she was able to see Tim a few times at the hospital before she left.
Here’s the sequence of events that led us to the hospital, then to Tim landing back in ICU (after doing so well they were going to send him home), to him passing, to me writing his obituary. It’s both crystal clear and kind of a blur at the same time.
When Will and I got to the hospital, Tim was busy writing down instructions for us – everything from what to do with his sports cars and guitar collection to which type of wood was in which woodpile. And oh yeah, the firewood by the driveway won’t be ready to burn until next year (that’s the Shipman Road wood for anyone over there who waved at Tim as he was cutting). I think I have enough wood here by the house to get us through the winter. Then maybe I’ll organize a work bee this summer to bring the other wood up to the house.
Anyway, when we got to the hospital, I took over the writing part while Tim gave instructions through his oxygen mask and Will translated for me (it was hard to hear Tim through the mask). I was an emotional wreck, so it was a little surreal to be sitting there jotting down notes while those two were discussing where the Austin Healey engine was in the shed. They were very matter-of-fact about what was happening and what information needed to be relayed before Tim was no longer able to relay it.
About That Cat
After we got through that, Tim said, “Anything else you can think of?” Nope, we said. Seems like we covered all the essential stuff. Then he turned to me and said he’d always be with me, but he didn’t want me to be alone. I said, “Well, maybe I’ll get a cat.”
Of course, there’s a backstory here. Growing up on a farm here on the OMP, my family always had a lot of animals around, and so every now and then through the years, I’d talk to Tim about getting a cat or dog. This was always a big debate between us. He never wanted pets because 1) his health was sketchy for the past 20 years, and 2) we were back and forth to U of M Hospital in Ann Arbor dealing with whatever health crisis was happening.
When I said that about the cat, Tim exclaimed, “Over my dead body you’ll get a cat!” Classic Tim – joking even though he was minutes away from death. He’d basically been waiting his whole life to say that. We all laughed, and then he said I should totally get a cat, but make sure that it’s a black cat.
More backstory on this … when Tim and I first got together, we had a black cat named Bill that we rescued from campus when we were going to school at U of M in the 1980s. Bill moved north with us and is actually buried under a tree out back on our property.
So Tim passed that day around 5 p.m. I came home emotionally and physically exhausted, got the fire going, collapsed on the couch and watched some mindless movie on the Hallmark Channel.
The very next morning out of the blue, my friend Maura, who lives out by the lighthouse, texted me and said there’s a black cat that’s been wandering around outside their home. There’s only a handful of houses out there, and she said the cat didn’t belong to any of the neighbors. Did I know of anyone missing a cat? I did not (my mind was already whirring about this black cat business).
They’d been seeing this cat for several nights, and one night, the cat pushed up against their sliding glass door looking for warmth and food, so they brought her inside, cleaned her up and fed her. I texted back to Maura and told her about Tim’s and my conversation the day before. She knew Tim had been sick, but didn’t know he’d passed. She immediately called me and an emotional conversation ensued.
I realized that this cat was probably meant for me, so I drove out there to pick her up. When I went inside and picked up the cat, she just sort of melted into my arms and started purring. But when we went outside, before I could get her into the car, she leapt out of my arms and raced off into the woods. Keep in mind it was 11 degrees that night. Oh no! I thought. The cat that Tim sent me just got away and I’ll never see her again! But Maura was confident she’d be back that night looking for food. Sure enough, the cat returned. I went to retrieve her again and finally brought her home in Maura’s little dog carrier.
When I brought her home that night, she laid in my lap for several hours, purring up a storm. Then she slept on top of me that night – and every night since then. There is no doubt in my mind that Tim coordinated this whole thing. What are the chances that he and I would have that conversation and the very next day, a black cat shows up in my life?
She had her first veterinary appointment on Jan. 18, and she’s in amazingly good health for being out in the wild. I learned that she’s about a year old, and thankfully, doesn’t have feline leukemia, which is often found in strays. In the words of Dr. Mason at Oakwood Veterinary Hospital, “You’ve got yourself a great cat here!” She had her first distemper shot, and I’ll take her back in February for the second distemper shot, a rabies shot, and I’ll also have her spayed at that time. I’m a cat mom!
I’m also very grateful that she didn’t have a microchip – I was holding my breath on that. We officially belong to each other, and she’s been an amazing companion as I’m grieving over the loss of Tim.
When I’ve told this story to a few people, one of the first things they ask is what name did I give her. I thought about several “black cat” names like Luna, Shadow or Smokey, but none of those seemed to fit her. I started calling her Baby, and then my friend Kris suggested something tied to Tim. I settled on “Charley” because Tim’s middle name is Charles. So I call her either “Charley” or “Baby Charley.”
You know, my mom had a cat show up at her house after Dad passed. Mom took her inside and gave her a warm, safe home. Maybe it’s a mystical generational thing.
Anyway, I’m now officially the crazy cat lady who watches Hallmark movies. And I am totally cool with that.