Not knowing what to say.
It has taken me a while to think what to say about Hay Festival.
It is always wonderful to be invited to Hay, and this year for the first time I was there with Graffeg, in the adult part of the festival. Although not in the program, as I was unsure because of work commitments as to whether Ffion would be with me, I was on stage with Ffi. We tell the story so much better together. And we went up a day early and on the way Ffi was flicking through the program and spotted that helen MacDonald was on. So we booked tickets and went to see both Helen and Robert MacFarlane.
Both were astonishing speakers. I’ve never heard anyone read so well from their book, and Helen spoke so movingly about her crazy wild madness of grief. And Robert announced to the world that he and I are beginning a book together. What a place to do this. His talk was astonishing, over too soon. There’s a magic in his words I love.
After hearing them both Ffi and I decided that we had best just go home really.
And we saw Cathy Cassidy who had been on stage singing the praises of the lovely Erin Keen, who is behind the art on Cathy’s latest books. My Erin, my best friend from school’s daughter. I’m not sure it was wise to say, “ah, Erin, I knew her when she was a foetus. Infact I introduced her mum to her dad.” But I did say that, yes, in the bookshop and the festival.
Ffi had her eye on The Bloody Oyster.
Anyway, having stayed with the wonderful Tamsin Abbott, sitting in the garden listening to owls hoot, watching flames dance in a firepit we both woke and decided we had best go home and I apologised to Ffion for dragging her into Hay Festival and we had breakfast and then tried to behave like grownups.
First I went to Booths to sign books. An amazing shop, soon I hope to have an exhibition there, maybe do an event, or just sit quietly painting in the shop.
At the festival we found friends, including Karin (Celestine and the Hare) and Matthew (Graffeg) who were busy discussing weasels in the green room.
And we did our event. To about 200 or so people. And I loved the way afterwards people came up to congratulate Ffi on what she had done with the falcon. So wonderful. So proud of her, again.
Then back home and back to reality. Work to catch up with. 3 more library cards to do.
Going away has been hard of late. I have a 16 year old dog and had a 16 year old cat who was very ill.
Max. Beautiful Max, who I got as a kitten when I thought my husband was having an affair, because sometimes we do strange things in difficult circumstances. Max, who never really liked kittens apart from Pixie who he was a little in love with so much so that he caught her a rat who was bigger than her. Max, stripy tabby who kept himself to himself but if he chose to sit on you then you stayed where you were and stroked him and felt lucky. Max, camera shy, slightly aloof.
He had been so sick and gone from a big Easter egg shaped cat to skin and bone and wasted muscle. He couldn’t keep his food down, sometimes wouldn’t eat and still would be sick.
So, yesterday the sun shone and Max was sat in the garden and I called Kath and she came to the house and we sat together and talked and I held him while she checked him over and then we decided it was time, because to see him starve to death was too painful. And so I held him while Kath shaved his paw and gave him the injection that put him to sleep. And then I sat with him curled dead in my lap in the sunshine. And eventually I remembered where the spade was and dug a hole, and Tom helped me make it deeper and we put his body to rest in the earth. And some days are like this. Some days.
Some days.
It is difficult to find words and best to lose yourself in paint, and the beauty of trees, and thought.
I never spend enough time drawing the cats who share my days, but I did remember one time, drawing Max.
Indeed, Max did have ears like velvet. Dark.
These members of our families leave little animal shaped holes that we fill with memories over time. All my best wishes to you xxx
Thank you. And yes, they do. In a way I felt a great sense of relief. He has been so sick for so long. Poor Max. He was a good cat.
beautiful. touching.
Jackie, I am so sorry. But you have done the kindest thing for Max. We had a cat rather like this early last year who was slowly starving, it got to the stage she had so little quality of life. Thinking of you.
Sorry for your loss, Jackie. What a splendid cat, and age. There is something about tabbies called Max (I loved and lost one 20 years ago, still dream of him sometimes). We are so lucky to share our lives with them. Thoughts with you.
That was beautifully written, Jackie. I am sorry about your losing Max. That empty hollow feeling, and the sigh, and having to move on and immerse oneself in something to get through it. Take care x
Remember, they know when they are loved and the memories will be with you forever. It’s just hard to say goodbye, so sorry.
Dear Jackie.
I have been following you since my close friend sent me a FB post of your painting of the girl and the big white bear. I have fallen in love with your work. Your images lift me up and bring a loveliness into my days. That you are in Wales doesn’t hurt either. I came so close to staying there as my forever place when I traveled there after graduating university in the early 70’s. Instead I ended up here, in the San Juan Islands off the NW coast of Washington. The two landscapes are very similar. I usually say a little bit here and a little bit there on FB, not wanting to stalk, having never met you in person. I have all of your work. I am commenting today to tell you how beautiful these words are that you have said about your work. You are as talented with your words and your heart as you are with your pencils and your brush. I made my living as a poet and storyteller until ten years ago and then I just needed to not be looked at anymore and to be quiet. Next fall I will be going out again with a new manuscript of poems. My work is published under my birth name, Connie Martin, but it is all out of print now. Thank you for everything it costs you to keep doing your work and putting it out here. I know a little bit about that.
Thank you.
Oh my heart. Xx
Not knowing what to say is about right, because I don’t. I publish words, not write them. And ‘sorry for your loss’ doesn’t seem to come close really. Anyway, for what it’s worth, I am.
Cheers lovely. I know that it’s so close to your experience that must have echoed it. Trying to savour time with Bella. She’s a funny old stick. I think I need to take her out for the odd walk on her own.
So sorry, Jackie.
I was feeling the same last year when our beautiful Muffin had to die, but you’d had several in a short space of time.
Thinking of you,
xxx
I am so sad for you. That’s a horrible decision to have to make but unstressed and at home is the best you can do. Leaving him when he was unwell must have been so hard and I can understand the small sense of relief of the decision being over. My Flannelcat is 18 and getting creakier and weirder and the thought of him and his velvet toes not being there frightens me. Your drawing of Max is beautiful.
He was a good cat, and he had a good life. A tear is shed for him here too.
I am so very sorry to hear about Max, Jackie. You know that you did not want him to suffer any more – but letting go is still so hard. Every good wish to you.
I am so very sorry as I am certain he will be missed. He did live like a king though. I am sure that he was always loved. The final sad gift from us is a release for our friends to move on to their next life.
Dear Max… oh I too don’t know what to say but have been there and felt that emptiness and wondering of right things and glad of old lives lived. And honoured to have been sat on by the tabby velveted eared one. xxx
And I also want to say how wonderful you two were. At Hay. How interesting and human and engaging and full of love.
Ahhh Jackie, I have no words either, just tears xxxx
Thank you Jackie for baring your soul so beautifully. For difficult days, for gratitude, for velvet ears. Lots of love sent your way. xx
So very sorry.
Sweet Max. Loving Jackie. Tears and a hug to you. I feel the honor more rightly now of when he snuggled on the chair in back of my shoulder. “He likes you” you said with a tone meaning that was something worth noting. Of course it was, it always is. You did well by his life, and his death.
Thank you Jackie, for sharing such a personal story and for doing so with such grace and eloquence. Your beautiful drawing is imbued with so much love and life that Max almost leaps off the page. I hope it brings back the best of memories for you.
Mark
Dear Max,
Sweet soul.
Soft ears.
Goodbye.
Tears…not the bubbling over kind, just a memory in the back of the throat and a bit of a slowing of the heart. The come and go of beloved beasts is most dear to me. Many have come and gone, and each a special creature and a specific marker. Your tribute to Max is beautifully put and heartfelt. Love to you who loves so well.
Jackie, I’m so sorry to hear your news of the gorgeous Max. Sometimes the last and best thing you can do for a loved animal, obviously, but equally obviously the rightness doesn’t stop hurting. Well done for giving him such a wonderful life. I so want to come back as one of your cats…. RIP Max and love to you, though we’ve not met. X
Grief for lost pets is sharp. They know all our secrets and are there for us when the rest of the world doesn’t seem to care. When my cat Fairfax died, I kept seeing him out of the corner of my eye, but he was always gone when I turned to look properly. I came to the conclusion that the spirits of lost pets are like those constellations in the night sky, such as the Milky Way, that can only be seen if looked for with a slightly averted eye. Scientists may explain this away with talk about the ‘rods and cones’ of the retina and how they detect different sorts of light. But those of us who have lost pets know that the indirect gaze sees into secret realms and places.
How strange to read this today. I dreamt last night of cuddling my lovely ginger Pol. 10 years since I have had a furry cuddle with him. Some cats are so much more than pets.
Sending love. I feel this. x
As always, Jackie, thank you for sharing your soul and strength.
Loss leaves us wounded but with such special scars…
Delighted to hear you’re working with Robert McFarlane. Just reading ‘The Old Ways’ and thinking of paths taken and future journeys.
All the best, Jackie.
I lost my half siamese/half Godknows Gobi aged 15 in April, and in May I lost my little grey girl kitty Stormie aged 11 to kidney failure. She was a rescue. (Still have Jaks, aged 8, so I’m not totally alone.) Just this past week, a blog friend Silvertiger lost his dear Freya who was also a rescue cat. This has been a difficult few months for us too. We love them so much and miss them so when they go. It says a lot for them that they elicit our love and respond to it. It says a lot for us that we give it so freely. Goodbye is hard.
So sorry Jackie 🙁 Lovely Max. Velvet eared and kind of heart. So sad he has gone but good he is not suffering any more. And yes, you were wonderful at Hay, both you and Ffion – it was an honour to get to listen to you both.
So sorry, so sad, wish I was there to give you a big hug, take care xx
Our cats don’t live long enough…or we live too long. Missing your gingers, and now Max, as I miss 1 ginger, 2 tuxedos, 3 torties and 3 tabbies I’ve lost over the years. Horribly painful when they leave but where would we be without their company. Hold the memories.
(((Max))) fly free