Lufthansa Flight 471
Toronto - Frankfurt

Dear David,

It’s been exactly three months since we said goodbye, and how could I not think of you while on an airplane? It’s the first time I’ve been in the sky since our last flight in November, and I thought of something that your friend Ed said back in December: that the Wright brothers’ first flight was on December 17, and you passed away only an hour into the 18th. I can’t help but think that date is significant, and perhaps it sat in the back of my mind when I booked this flight.

Over the Atlantic the moon was full and bright, lighting the wings of the jet in an ethereal glow, a blanket of clouds below and a bracelet of stars above. I wished you were sitting beside me to witness such a spectacle, but the seat is occupied by an English fellow on a ski holiday in Austria. He didn’t comment on it at all.

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Dear David,

Mister Hugh and I made it to Toronto just fine. Believe it or not, it wasn’t worse than taking him to the vet. In actuality, it was much easier… the nine hours in the car were less traumatic than the five minutes it takes to drive him to Dr. Paws! But I’ll have to give credit where credit is due: thank you, acepromazine.

I was tempted to take some pictures of Mister Hugh along the way, but he looked so dopey and pathetic that I didn’t have the heart to do it. He couldn’t even focus, poor kitty. I felt badly, but the anxiety he would’ve felt otherwise was akin to torture. He’s survived much worse than being stoned for half a day.

I want you know that it didn’t take long for Hugh to return to his normal (incontinent) self. Thank heavens for wood flooring. After coming to, when we arrived in Toronto, he made a grab for the Greenies and it was at that moment I knew he’d be alright. He sulked when I kept moving around his dishes and litterbox, and made it clear he wasn’t going to put up with this nonsense. He took a dump right on his welcome mat.

You used to joke that you were the Country Mouse and I was the City Mouse. What should we call Hugh? He’s still adjusting to urban ambience: the sounds of neighbouring apartment dwellers and traffic and passersby, but I think once I get everything unpacked and he’s given it all the Royal Sniff, he’ll relax more.

The other night I tried to give him a proper introduction to the World of the Balcony, but last night he was too Fraidy Cat to step out. Didn’t even make it to the doorway. You know Hugh — little by little, one step at a time.

As for me, I’m trying to do the same: one step at a time. Trying not to lose focus or let anxiety take over. No acepromazine for me, though.

XOXO from the House of Fielding in Toronto. We miss you.

Love,
Your City Mouse and Tuxedo Cat

Dear David,

It’s been two months since you’ve been gone and the world is such a different place without you.

I still have visions of you rounding the corner to tell me everything will be alright. You were always good at giving comfort and understanding, but now I have to find that on my own. I’m sure you would say, “But you’re not alone, Gail” — which is true, I have good friends who care for me, but even after a pleasant evening in their company I still go home and stare at the walls because a part of me died with you that day. I mourn for you, but also for us.

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Dear David,

When will it stop hurting so much?

Yesterday was going so well, I thought. No tears all day. They took me by surprise the day before, Wednesday, when I crossed the border early in the morning and the coach stopped in Niagara Falls. As soon as I saw the station, I couldn’t swallow the lump growing in my throat and the tears started to well up in my eyes. We were here only seven months ago, saying goodbye after a long weekend together after being separated for a month. I was staying in Toronto for another few days, but you had to drive back home the night of July 4th to resume work on the 5th. I went with you as far as I could go so we could spend more time together without jeopardising my visa status — the border, Niagara Falls — and took a bus back to Toronto.

I distinctly remember sitting in the car, discussing with you the hope that the fiancée visa would come quickly so we could be reunited sooner rather than later. Until that point, we usually knew how long we’d be apart. The most thus far was four weeks, and you were reluctantly becoming accustomed to our necessary separations to satisfy U.S. Immigration. Goodbyes were always a strain, but in the wake of immigration uncertainty, this one was a real trial. Niagara Falls was to be our last goodbye you’d remember. It was shortly after that you began feeling sick. more…

Dear David,

It’s garbage day tomorrow, so I channeled a rare burst of energy into cleaning the garage, and hauled many bags of rubbish to the curb. I love you madly, so I can state with impunity to the internet that you were quite slovenly, especially in your bachelor years. I was always getting on your case about being tidier, and I can just hear you now — “We have better things to do with our time than clean!” I grumbled, but you were right. All that time I’d spent cleaning, when we could’ve been doing something fun.

The middle of the kitchen floor is covered with items to take to Salvation Army tomorrow, things which I’m sure you’d forgotten but couldn’t be bothered to throw away. I pick through everything, look at your handwriting, find the occasional treasure amongst the junk — an old 45-rpm record, photo negatives, remnants from your college years. I’m organising them all, so it’s no wonder it’s taking me forever to do these simple tasks.

I might even work up the chutzpah to clean out the BASEMENT, believe it or not. You thought it more than mildly amusing that I was too chicken to go down there without you, so you’d be proud to know I’ve been down there several times in the past month without having to brace myself at the top of the stairs first. The other week I even marched right down and brought the Jenny up the stairs to Bill — he was so impressed I didn’t resort to using the cellar door — without knocking it against the beams. (Don’t worry, I know the JN-4 is your pride and joy, I was very careful. It’s safe at Bill’s place now.) The basement still gives me the heebie-jeebies, truth be told, so I daren’t blow a fuse… but I’m trying to get past this little fear.

There are a lot of things I struggle with from day to day, but I’m slowly learning to live without you by my side and to embrace life a little more. Not a day goes by without me bargaining with the universe to bring you back to me, but I keep plodding on nonetheless. I miss you all the time, but I’m surviving.

Love,
Gail

Dear David,

You’ve been gone for a month, and it’s been the hardest month of my life. I know we talked about it, about how I might have to go on without you, but nothing could prepare me for this…

I thought of all the things you wanted me to do, and how I would have to manage without your constant encouragement. You wanted me to learn to fly, but I wanted to learn that from you, in our Tri-Pacer. I was going to finish my degree while you got your Certified Flight Instructor rating. We were in the middle of remodelling the house together. We always consulted each other, about everything.

Photography just doesn’t feel the same anymore. My travel pictures are what caught your eye first in the online communities, but after all our trips together and how much you taught me and supported my photographic work, I feel very empty knowing I can’t share it with you anymore. more…

Dear David,

Friday was a beautiful day for flying — warm and sunny and the skies were clear. The kind of day where we’d race to Cherry Ridge to pick up the Tri-Pacer, and you’d laugh at me for hesitating along the drive past the horse farms because I’d want to take a few photos along the way, muttering “oh phooey, I’ll stop next time” because winter days are too short for photo op delays. You knew how much I loved to fly and would never refuse a trip when you wanted to go up.

It was one of those gorgeous winter days, ripe for a flight. But we didn’t fly today. I only thought about it.

I let Hugh out to enjoy the sunshine, and he took his usual route of circling the house umpteen times and sniffing the hedges. I always supervise him and don’t permit Bailey the neighbour cat to go near him, lest they get into a fight. From what I can see, Hugh isn’t interested in Bailey, anyway, he cowers in the bushes the whole time. You’d be glad to know he comes when I call him now, I don’t have to lure him with treats anymore. more…

Dear David,

I talked a lot about you yesterday. To a bereavement counsellor, and to a good friend of yours. After a two-hour session with the counsellor, I felt compelled to phone Helma. She was with you in the hospice, but by then you were unable to speak or see. It took a great deal of courage for her to come on Saturday morning after I phoned her because she just lost her husband of 41 years, your good friend Hermann, at CMC’s hospice two weeks before. I remember how much it affected you to know your friend had finally passed away after a long illness, and you were astounded by the fact that she phoned you right away. I wanted to give her the opportunity to see you one last time, since it had been so long, and you spoke so much about them. I never got the chance to meet Hermann, but it was as if I already knew them.

It was the best idea of the morning. I agonised over letting other people see you in the hospice, especially when I knew you didn’t want people to see you sick. People wanted to say goodbye, but maybe I was under too much strain to shoo them away. I didn’t want to be selfish with you.

Having Helma there helped me, and I think you knew it, although you couldn’t speak. I whispered in your ear, “Helma’s a lively one, just like you said!” — and I am certain I saw you blink fast and move your chin in affirmation. She sat with you when I was dealing with people outside, and I felt better knowing she was with you. Helma said watching me swab your mouth for hydration was like watching herself two weeks earlier. It was painful for her, but gratifying at the same time because she knew what I was going through, and she was helping me help you.

You’re so right about Helma’s cooking, too. She made me the best dinner I’d had since Tosca cooked for me the week before. I had the biggest appetite in ages. No wonder you were over at their house so often!

I told Helma how attached you were to the blue housecoat she made for you. That it’s falling apart from constant use, but you wore it all the time when you were sick and would never replace it. She beamed.

Oh, and I met “Kitty”. Hugh has much to learn from Kitty about how to use the litterbox, even though he’s had nine more years of practice.

I told Helma how much you raved about her cooking, and her textile handiwork. And how much you admired Hermann’s attention to detail with the plane modelling and jewellery-making and dental instruments and his many other interests. I told Helma how often you passed along stories of Hermann in Germany during WWII, and she pointed out “David’s seat” at the end of their kitchen table and how you were the perfect gentleman all the time — to the point where they couldn’t tell off-colour jokes in your presence for fear of making you blush. more…

Dear David,

Your buddy Mister Hugh is taking very good care of me. His separation anxiety with you has transferred to me, and he follows me everywhere, including the bathroom. Since you’ve been gone, he tries to sit in my lap at every opportunity, but my legs aren’t as long as yours so he spends an awful lot of time going ’round and ’round in pursuit of the Perfect Position in which to splay. He didn’t purr much with me while you were around — all you’d have to do is look at Hugh and his motor kicked in — but now he’s in turbopurr within proximity. When Hugh isn’t in my lap, he paws at my leg and begs with his big cat eyes, pleading for cuddles as if his life depended on it. You know how persistent he is, and how futile it is to resist the persistent begging.

You might be surprised to know that Hugh went for two whole weeks without peeing in his sleep, until the other day when he did it twice. Once was right on my leg while *I* was sleeping, so everything was thrown in the washing machine. Sigh. He was doing so well, but maybe while people were here Hugh wasn’t relaxed enough for this to happen. Whenever he’d fall asleep on the floor between us in the office, we’d have to wake him up to try and prevent the puddling. I can’t do this all the time, so now I’m trying to train him to sleep on a blanket that’s sitting on top of the incontinence pad we bought for him — the one he doesn’t like and would never lie on. Oh, the indignity. His kitty brain hasn’t figured out that it’s hidden yet.

Me: “Hugh seems to be confused.”

You: “Hugh’s confused by the sun every morning.”

You made fun of him out of love, because Hugh gave you unconditional love for his whole life. Nearly 15 years of running to the door to greet you (”Where’s my buddy?”), sleeping beside you, and on top of you. (I’m still not crazy about the constant threat of getting peed on and the vomiting around the house in his old age, but if you could put up with it, I will, too.) Now he does the same for me and I thank you for that, because it makes me feel like you’ve left a furry bit of you behind to comfort me.

Love,
Gail

Dear David,

The year is winding to a close and I’m finally getting a quiet moment after an extremely busy and heartwrenching week. The House of Fielding is tranquil — Hugh’s curled up at my feet, and the others are asleep. Tosca and Allan are leaving today, so Hugh and I can send out 2005 quietly.

Your memorial on Wednesday was so very moving, but I couldn’t imagine it any other way. I think about it often, because there was so much going on. I’ll be thinking — and writing — about it for some time to come.

When I stood up in front to speak and looked around the room, I could see in every person’s face how much you meant to them. If you could bottle up the good thoughts that have come your way over the span of years and release them in one room, that’s what it felt like. Lots and lots and lots of love for you. more…