Paco is the Future

I am discovering that a part of adjusting to growing older involves having to learn to accept an ever increasing number of losses. So many deaths have occured around me within the last few years. Losses seem to be occurring at an accelerating pace now that I am in my fifties. Within the past five years I've said lost my dad, my sister, my aunt Anne, my aunt Gale, my cousins Jeff and Diane, my old graduate school classmate Ginger, several beloved pets, my mother-in-law, and now my neighbor Lorenzo.

Lorenzo lived across the street from me for almost ten years. He was one of the first neighbors I met shortly after I bought my house just south of the University of Florida campus near Bivens Lake. We were fairly close in age. He was an artist, visionary, and dreamer in a big way. I enjoyed hearing him talk about liberal politics, art, nature, and his family roots in Bolivia. Born Larry, he came to embrace his Hispanic identity and changed his name as an adult to Lorenzo. He had conflicted relationships with his siblings and friends. Lorenzo had a girlfriend for awhile, whom he met in a substance abuse treatment program. She moved in with him, and even brought along her sister and younger brother. They seemed like a happy clan for a few years, and then one by one they drifted away, the girlfriend being the last to go. Lorenzo was raising two daughters by former marriages. One left home to get married right after her high school graduation. The other girl stayed home while attending a local college, but eventually she, too, met a guy and moved away to Nashville with him.

Lorenzo lived in a big ramshackle two story house with wood siding. Over the years, the house fell into poor repair, with the roof leaking and weeds taking over the entire yard. Lorenzo didn't seem to care. I heard from other neighbors that he was ill. He became more and more reclusive, seldom venturing out. One day his siblings came and started cleaning pickup truckloads of trash out of the house. His kitty Paco, whom Lorenzo had taken in several years ago after Paco was abandoned by some university students, had been eating at our house with our cats for awhile, as Lorenzo had become a little casual about putting out kibbles for him.

One day I came home and found Paco, waiting for his dinner as usual on our front step, with a huge gaping wound on his neck. I examined him and was disturbed to see his muscle exposed through the long tender gash. He had apparently tangled with some critter, maybe a possum or racoon, and suffered a nasty bite. I wanted to help but wasn't sure what approach to take, with Lorenzo being ill.

Rather than knocking on Lorenzo's door, I decided to drop his daughter an email asking if she wanted me to take Paco to a vet. I was stunned by her reply. She said her father had passed away two weeks prior, and she thought that I had agreed that Paco could live with me. In my ideal world, some member of their family would have contacted me shortly after Lorenzo's death. But reality isn't ideal, and things didn't happen according to my expectations. As I mature, I am finally realizing that life is like that sometimes. I emailed her back with my condolences and an assurance that I would take care of the cat.

A few weeks after antibiotics and daily wound care, Paco's neck is healed. He still hangs around across the street most of the time at Lorenzo's vacant house, but comes over to our place faithfully twice a day to eat. It seems to me that Lorenzo's ghost still hovers near, and I can see him in my mind's eye going for walks along our street, with his glassy blue eyes and mop of graying Einstein-like hair. Maybe he is having difficulty leaving this world. Lorenzo once told me that creatures shouldn't be buried after death because it ties them to a specific place and their spirit can't roam freely. A Google search for his obituary revealed that his remains were left to the Neptune Society for cremation. Nevertheless, I think it will still be awhile before he moves on fully to the next realm.   

I'm learning that I must grieve each loss and move on. I cannot live in a world of the past, as this contributes to depression. I must greet each new day and look forward to the possibilities that it brings. I must have more beginnings than endings. Nurturing my relationship, keeping in touch with friends, meeting new people, doing something creative, and being of service to others keeps me engaged with the world and connected to life. Some days when my mood is low, I don't feel like I'm doing anybody any good. My hope that I can make things beautiful and help others gives me reasons to get out of bed in the morning. Making a difference gives my life meaning. Lorenzo is gone, and so his kitty has now joined our family, and I am happy for the opportunity to care for this cat and make a difference for him. Paco is the future.