2022: a year of hope & comeback kids
a cat, a goat, & me
Because the last couple weeks have felt insane and -while I want to write something new - I just can’t right now, I figured the best thing I can do is share this tale from my mid-December, as well as some thoughts on the previous year, so we can all finally wrap it up and move on, already. This one’s about hope, and sticking to it, like that little cat on the poster saying, “Hang in there, kid!” I state the obvious because this is, in fact, about a cat, a goat, and me. I hope y’all enjoy it. Oh - and by the way - Happy First Week of the New Year! (are we seriously only 6 days in already??)
Oh well, here goes…
2022: a year of hope & comeback kids
“This is what I do,” I said to the cat in my passenger seat, as we drove down winding country roads in the pouring rain. “I take care of you, and I bring you back to life. I’ve done this before. It’s what I do. It’s what I have to do. You’re going to feel better, I promise.”
I didn’t know if the words were true, but they were a lot better than the repetitive f-bombs I’d been whispering to myself in a state of panic after I’d come to work that Wednesday to find a bloodish liquid all over the garage where we keep our three cats. There was one who hadn’t met me at the door like usual, and the clues I kept finding were not good, until I looked under a hedge in front of the office and found Pip right there, his wide green eyes staring out from a foot-deep hole he was sitting in.
Animals hide from their pain. Whenever I can’t find one, I fear the worst. And in this case, there was no denying it.
It seems I’ve been no stranger to pain over the last few years. There was Covid, of course, and the loss of my job. There were multiple cases of maddening poison ivy and a very painful run-in between my hand and a tree. There was some undiagnosed depression and anxiety. There were the unexpected deaths of two baby goats. And there was another goat who developed a neurological infection while we were on vacation in May and should have died within a day, but - thanks to a weeks’ worth of penicillin shots and B vitamins - didn’t. He’s the one I was telling Pip about. My miracle comeback kid of a goat who gave me some kind of confidence that, if I just loved hard enough and didn’t give up, it would all be okay.
Except, even though I had this hope, I didn’t. Not really. Because the result of all the bad stuff happening over & over again was that I was learning to anticipate the bad before the good, and - much as I didn’t like that change in myself - I couldn’t avoid the pit in my stomach that showed up every time the future was in question.
When I first started writing on this topic, I wasn’t sure how it would end, but long story short, Pip did turn out okay. Despite bloodwork that depicted both liver and kidney failure, a few rounds of IVs miraculously returned him to normal. My second comeback kid of the year.
Or should I say, third?
Because this year, after years of the waiting game, I’m coming back, too.
Yes, that’s right. Somehow, hope and hard work have prevailed, and I will once again be a full-time, salaried working lady at the only place I’ve ever really wanted to work: Rockvale Writers’ Colony. It’s the best news I could have received this year. (And if any writers are reading this, please look us up!)
I’m not saying I manifested it. I’m not going to call it magic or fate or any of the other words I’ve clung to over the course of my twisting, turning life. But I will say that there’s something to the power of hope. There’s something to positive thinking, despite the odds and the naysayers. Because it’s optimism that makes the hard times just a little bit better. And sometimes, it actually does work out in the end. If it doesn’t, at least we know we gave it our best.
And, perhaps, we benefit in growing just a little bit stronger and wiser from it.
It’s been three wretched years of uncertainty for many of us. But if you think about it, you’ve learned something along the way: about the world, about yourself, about what you want in this life. And that alone is something to be hopeful about - that after all the hardship, after all the longing, after all the back-and-forth - we learn something. We grow. We evolve and adapt. We keep animals alive. We believe that we can get through the next hard thing because we’ve done it before. And we keep finding new things to hope for, too.
Today, I am more grateful than I’ve ever been. I love my job, my spouse, my family, my home, my work pets, my home pets, my crazy screaming goats. I love my potential. I love that there is potential. And I love that, somehow, I can find the words for it and share them with you so that, maybe, you can reflect on your own year and find something to be grateful for, too.
If you can’t, that’s okay. We’ve all been there. And you are not alone. But I hope you manage to find a little hope along the way. If there’s anything to carry into the new year, let this be it.