Sad headline goes here

It's been two weeks since our cat Garfield was killed by a neighbor's car.
I think of him most often at night or in the early morning when he is missing from our bed, and also when I'm home in the daytime by myself. My friend, my company, is gone.
His death came almost exactly a year after we lost him once, when somehow he got trapped in a nearby abandoned house. When we rescued him that time, we were elated. We were also determined to keep him closer -- inside -- where he would be safe from, well, everything.
But Garfield's life indoors was not happy. He paced at the doors, and raced to them when he heard keys clinking. He was young, quick, agile and, it turned out, even more determined to get out than we were to keep him in.
Before too long, we got over our sadness of his being lost and forgot our relief over his being found. Then one day he shot past us into the yard, and we were OK with it.
We enjoyed him out there. He climbed the playset, watched soccer from the sidelines, inserted himself into the middle of Frisbee games. Beyond the yard, he followed the kids to the bus stop and visited favorite houses. He made friends with people and cats and delighted in aggravating the idiot dogs behind the fence next door.
He was never far away. If he heard our voices outside, he would appear from under a hosta plant or the garden, and we would hear his jingle-bell collar tinkle as he ran, his loose, orange and white belly swinging, to greet us.
He would run across the yard, and he might pant and flop at our feet upon arrival. "Garfield is a little more cat than he should be," the vet told me during his last visit.
That was polite. I'll call him "sturdy," and his absence weighs on me.
Tonight, I picked up Garfield's ashes from the veterinarian. We made the expensive decision to get them with tears and snot still running down our faces. Now I'm not sure why we need them, and they are hard to explain to the children. Upsetting, even. Do we really need this physical reminder?
In the past two weeks, the hurt has numbed, and we have carried on. The kids have asked for a new cat, and they have even picked out a name. I can sometimes drive by the careless neighbor's house without thinking, "What a shithead."
Then I realize I drove right by without thinking that, and I think it, anyway.
So, the ashes in the pretty pink and green tin. Yes, a reminder is good. Of the smiles and snuggles he gave us and the kindness and softness we showed him. He brought out the best in us, and we must try to keep it up.
Garfield, you are missed. In the spring, we will plant catnip in the garden and remember. And wish you were here.

Getting started

It's 11:47 a.m.
I volunteered to participate in a daily writing exercise this month: Write for 30 minutes nonstop -- no editing allowed -- in response or not to a prompt from the moderator.
The prompts have been: SECRET, TRANSPARENT, EXPOSED, SILENCE, CONSTANT, COMFORT and BALANCE.
It's Oct. 7.
I got nothing.
More-appropriate prompts for me: STUMPED, DISTRACTED, DOUBT, LATER, I FELL ASLEEP WITH THE KIDS AGAIN!, THAT LOOMING HOMEWORK FEELING and EXCUSES.
It's 11:58 a.m.

I've been spending time this week on the new Project Sensory website and it's associated links. It's sucked me in, as it validates so much of what I have experienced as a parent of two highly sensitive boys.
A few early posts on this blog lament some of our sensory-related struggles, but when I wrote about them, I didn't have the knowledge to realize that what was going on was a real "thing." I wrote them to vent. I wrote them seeking advice. I wrote them to remember.
But as the boys got older, I wrote less. I was in the trenches. It was not getting easier, and I questioned my role in why.
It's 12:17.
#30writenow

Swim it or skip it?

Early next month, I expect to receive notice that I qualify for "early bird" entry into the 2015 Great Chesapeake Bay Swim. The charitable donations I received from friends and family for this year's race in Maryland boosted me into a category of swimmers who can bypass the popular event's lottery selection process.

A decision will need to be made.

To swim or not to swim?

There are plenty of reasons to skip.

And at least one biggie to stick with it:

That's Blake, 7, swimming three-quarters of a mile across Lake Terramuggus this past summer. 

....

The Bay Swim is a weighty undertaking. Here are the practicalities: At least eight hours in the car. Hundreds of dollars spent on hotels, restaurants and the entry fee. A day the kids lose from school. Hours spent in the pool getting ready. And here are the associated intangibles: Guilt over training. Feeling too often like real life -- responsibilities -- are getting pushed aside. Anxiety. Am I in good-enough shape? Am I prepared for the conditions? Is this really worth the risks? People die doing this sort of thing. I have children! 

I have children.

In June, I drove home from Annapolis weary. It had not been a fun family trip. The four-plus miles in the water had been the easy part. I resigned myself to this event being too hard on all of us to do again. Too much time training. Too much money. Too much to ask. We had even missed the school fair! But somewhere on the Jersey Turnpike, Blake asked from the back seat, "Mom, do you think I can do the Bay Swim next year?"

"No," said. "It's too advanced for you."

(I said something similar to Thomas once. It resulted in this.)

"But," I told Blake, "If you keep up your swimming all summer, there is a race you can do in August that's shorter and good for beginners."

Intangibles: Motivation. Inspiration.

We came home to summer-league swim team, kids triathlons and laps in the lake. 

And in August, Blake was the youngest boy to enter and complete the half-mile swim at the Lake Quassy Open Water Swim Festival. We swam together stroke for stroke, but he finished a few seconds ahead of me.

The next day, we were telling the neighbors about the swim. 

"I stayed with him," I told my friend, "but he really didn't need me."

I turned to Blake.

"Do you think you could do it on your own next year?" I asked him.

"Well, I'm not sure," he said. "You were pretty helpful out there."

Intangibles: Appreciation. Trust. And let's add admiration.

I admire the boy who challenged himself last summer, who worked hard with a smile on his face, who now wears his race T-shirt with pride, even though he "swims" in it because they had no youth sizes. 

So was the Bay Swim worth it? Will I be there next June?

There's a decision to be made.

Swimming across the bay -- again

Next month, I will join my best friend from college and about 650 other people in swimming 4.4 miles across the Chesapeake Bay. It will be my second crossing near Annapolis, but this is the first time I am participating in the event’s charitable program.

Since 1992, The Great Chesapeake Bay Swim has donated more than $1 million to Maryland-based charities, with the March of Dimes receiving the most money. It is my goal to raise at least $300 in donations over the next five weeks, doing my part to boost the amount distributed to the many worthwhile organizations the swim aims to help.

I last completed this swim in 2010, finishing middle-of-the-pack. I wrote about that day here. Last time, while I swam, I thought a lot about my dad, who doesn’t swim but shares my love for the water. This time, in those couple of hours under the bridge, I expect to think about friends old and new.

I am so pleased to share this experience with my college teammate, who will bring her two sons from Colorado to meet my boys that weekend. And I am so inspired by the many people I have met and worked with in the past year through my job teaching and coaching swimming. I am in awe of the adults who come to the pool and start with learning to float, kick, stroke and finally breathe. I am motivated by the people who are new to competitive swimming and work hard every Masters practice. The determination and enthusiasm I witness now every day will keep me moving across the bay.

If I make my fund-raising goal, I will have the added bonus of bypassing the lottery entry-process for next year’s swim and earn an automatic spot. We’ll see how it all goes, though. If there is chop, or jellyfish, or flotsam and jetsam … maybe next year, I can convince my friend that a simple girls’ weekend is the way to go.

Hey, now there’s an idea….

But in the meantime, June 8 is the day. If you would like to donate to the charitable arm of The Great Chesapeake Bay Swim, please send me a note, and I will direct you further. There are no online donations, so this is done the old-fashioned way – by mail. All donations are tax-deductible.

Thanks for reading, and thank you in advance for your support.