Archive: March, 2025

The last few days were really, really bad. Losing Finn by itself would be hard for anyone, but the circumstances in and around that loss made it far worse.

First off, not that there is such a thing as good timing to lose a pet, but it feels like we've been the stars in a shit show all around us. Simon has some serious problems at school, while work has been extra (and needlessly) stressful. The sudden and huge decline in the stock market has been freaking me out, and the continued assault on human rights is disturbing. So the baseline for life was already a fraught place.

Sunday was like any other day. I remember Finn squirming around on the patio in the sun while watching birds do bird things. Monday he barfed up clear stuff with a weird coughing fit. He and Poe have both done this from the start, and we've always speculated that it was allergies, but Diana was concerned because it wasn't like the usual thing. Tuesday morning she took him in, and after an X-ray, the doctor was surprised to see fluid in his lungs. He believed that he was looking at hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (HCM), because he could see some thickening in the walls of his heart. It's a common condition in cats, especially in a handful of breeds. He drained the fluid, but was surprised that he didn't immediately feel better, as he described it being almost like a light switch. The doctor had labs sent out and a cardiologist consult, but he didn't think the HCM was enough to cause him to struggle.

We brought Finn home, and he spent most of the day chilling in his basket, as I would expect given the ordeal with a giant needle. He walked around the house a few times, but didn't eat or drink. We brought him upstairs at bedtime, and he got cozy on the end of the bed. The next morning, Wednesday, he was laying down next to the water fountain in our bathroom. I watched him during my shower to see if he would drink, and I didn't see it. We took him back to the doctor, who found him to be breathing normally, and an X-ray showed his chest was still clear. Finn's lethargy didn't add up. They kept him there to give him fluids and oxygen, and we went back home, honestly not really thinking much of it. They would call later and I would pick him up, after Diana went to work.

The call wasn't good. The labs showed a high concentration of proteins in that fluid they took out, which tends to be a sure diagnosis that he had feline infectious peritonitis (FIP). It's a cat coronavirus that's often passed from the parent, so it's possible that he always had it. Certain mutations in it can be deadly, and sometimes it can be treated, but not this time. It was killing him quickly. The doctor said that we were out of options. I called Diana at work, and it hit me that we were going to have to say goodbye to him.

Simon just turned 15, and while we eased him into the deaths of our previous cats, frankly with a lot of time to prepare for each (Emma was nearly 18!), Diana correctly decided that we should just be honest with him, and give him a chance to say goodbye. What followed were two of the most difficult hours I've had in a very long time.

I just put it out there... I told him that Finn was very sick, and didn't have much longer to live. We had to go to the animal hospital to give him some love and our last goodbyes. His reaction was awful, and I've never seen him that upset. He was cycling through the first four stages of grief over and over, while sprinkling in concerns about a test he had to take, going to school and showing us some video game stuff. He's not really an ASD stereotypical rocker or flapper, but that day he was. It was really bad, and there was a time pressure to get to the hospital, where we would meet Diana coming back from work. I'm so tired of seeing my child unhappy or upset.

We spent some quality time with him, though it was horrible seeing him so weak and limp. He would kind of sit up in your arms for a minute, making eye contact, and then kind of melt back into the towel. We spent every dollar we could to help, but it wasn't enough.

When the doctor came in to give him the sedative, Simon lost it to another level. In the moment, since Simon wanted to get out of there, I decided that Finn would be in good hands with his mom, and I'd go to the car with Simon. I didn't want him to be alone. It could have been the reverse, but I guess my thinking at the time was that I couldn't do anything else for Finn, but I could for my kid. I gave Finn one more kiss on the head and a quick rub, and said goodbye.

We were in separate cars, so Diana was about 30 minutes behind me (she stopped to get Simon McDonald's). There were a lot of feelings, but I unlocked some stuff on Simon's phone that we were blocking because of grades, and that served as a much needed distraction. Once we got home, I retreated to our room and finally let myself have a good cry. Sometimes being a parent, you don't have time to feel.

I'm stuck in the anger stage of grief. It wasn't fair to Finn to get so little time. It wasn't fair to us. Usually you know it's coming and have time to prepare. And now he isn't all of the places that I expect to see him... on the table behind the couch, flopping at my feet after a shower, at the end of the bed, and there are only two food bowls.

It's hard to know or even understand how an animal thinks and feels, but somehow you can tell when you're with one that is a "gentle soul," for lack of a better term. And I worry about Poe, who doesn't know a life without his spooning and grooming partner. It's gonna take awhile for all of us.

(Photos from March, 2025 and August, 2020)

If you told me last weekend that I'd be writing this today, I'd say that was crazy. We very unexpectedly had to say goodbye to Finn yesterday. Likely the combination of early stages of hypertrophic cardiomyopathy and feline infectious peritonitis took him very fast. I'll write about that later, because for now I want to celebrate the time that we did have with him, even though it was less than five years.

The Finnster and his brother Poe, named after the Star Wars characters, came to us during the pandemic, in August, 2020. We had just lost Emma, who lived to be almost 18, and Oliver didn't make it to Christmas. Gideon left us two years earlier, and Cosmo back in 2013 before we moved to Florida. Our blended cat family got pretty old, and it would be just weird not having cats around. Despite working with a foster agency, we really wanted ragdolls, as we grew to appreciate them with our Seattle family. And we were finally going to have cats that were "ours" together from the start.

It was pretty obvious early on that Finn would be very laid-back and floppy, total breed standard personality. He was a lover from the start. He didn't necessary try to cuddle with you all of the time, though Simon often forced the issue, but he was content to be near you as much as possible. He very early on mastered the stretch-and-flop, where he would go to where you were standing, stretch out his front legs, then flop on his side so you could rub his belly. He did it pretty consistently for me when I was getting dressed in the morning, at least once a week, even last week. And he didn't have to be a cuddler, because he was beautiful and glorious and large. When he was younger, he would often "monorail" Diana in bed, which is to say he'd spread his legs out around her and nuzzle his head into her hair.

Finn could be hilariously lazy, too. Sometimes he would lay next to the water bowl, upright just enough to drink. When he'd play with toys, he had no interest in jumping or trying to catch a feather on a stick. But give him something that he could rear-dig while on his back and he was content. Wadded up gift wrap was a very brief interest in the few Christmases he had. Unfortunately he was also kind of lazy about grooming, something that Poe would generally assist with.

But the main thing was that he was skilled at making you feel at ease, just being around. He was never particularly skeptical of strangers. He was happy to hang out near you, and give you a slow blink with those blue eyes. He was a lover, not a fighter, which led to some bullying by Remy (who seems to be looking for him the most now). It's hard to put into words the way he made you feel, other than "better," even in the worst of times.

I'm going to miss him so much.

Mental health seems to be making a little progress as something that is more actively talked about. It has a long way to go. But especially lately, I'm surprised at how much it comes up in conversation, and how many people feel like they're struggling a bit. I am firmly in this camp. Life's obligations and challenges, and sometimes the world, are weighing on me. For context, I haven't really felt like this since probably 2009. That was the year of the recession, the inability to sell houses, oh, and I moved cross-country, started a new job, got married and had a baby on the way.

I don't really want to get deep into it all right now, but I do know that one of the ways to counteract all of that emotional and cognitive load is to balance it out with stuff that appeals to your intrinsic motivation, helps you feel present, and gives you joy. I've had a lot of things over the years that do that for me, but for the last year or so I've noticed that it's been so hard to engage in them. They don't thrill me like they used to. There was a time when I would jump out of bed to do that thing. And of course finishing projects is always hard (rum doc). So these days, I'm looking for that thing, that project, that thing I'm so into that I'll follow it to completion. It's the general malaise that makes it hard to even plug in.

It's a work in progress. I wish there were smaller things that filled the joy need. Sometimes they do surface suddenly though. A week or two ago I thought, I want a better call background. So I blitzed through rebuilding the Lego Eiffel Tower. (Disappointed that no coworker has called it out.) I know that so much of my thing is that I want to do things that potentially benefit others, which is great in principle, but I think I need to do things for me. I give more than I take already.

Few things are more concerning in middle age than the passage of time, and the growth of your child represents that more than anything. It's weird. And yet, having a toddler seems like it was yesterday, and having an adult seems a decade off, when it's really just a few years. I don't mean to reduce my kid to a clock, but I can't think of anything that so clearly represents milestones.

Not a lot has changed in a year for Simon, other than everything seems harder than before. High school has been so hard. A combination of the volume of work, and his frequent unwillingness to do it, has made things hard for all of us. It wears on his self-esteem and negatively affects his mental health. And that's all while trying to navigate ASD and ADHD. We still aren't in the right place on the accountability/accommodation ratio, because it's hard to parse out what is legitimately challenging and what is him being a teenager. It creates a lot of despair in our house.

It's not all bad, mind you. He's been showing a lot of interest in the hospitality business, which of course includes theme parks. College or other post-high school options are still a pretty big question mark, and I'm slowly adjusting to the fact that it will ultimately be up to him to choose that path. He does seem to be open to the idea of being a working adult, and I know I didn't get there until I was 16.

My relationship with him continues to be strained, but I see more and more that he understands I am his advocate, even when I'm the disciplinarian. I hate to see him struggle, but I force myself to allow it, and coach him after about why I let it happen. He's hearing from me about why it's important to me that he becomes more self-reliant. It sucks now, but I do think we'll be friends when he's an adult. He looks up to me in certain ways (I hear him talk about me to friends online), and I take that seriously. I just get so frustrated with him, but I'm getting better at expressing it in a way that he can respond to constructively.

With all of this, I just want him to have some happiness as a kid. I don't want him to have my teen years. Simon can be funny and fun to be around, I just wish he could find peers that see it. Another year has passed where he has not found his tribe. I never found mine in high school (maybe I never truly have), and I don't want that for him. That's why it's so important that at least his adult relationships result in advocacy, support and love.

In March, we took our only "real" vacation that wasn't a cruise, visiting Washington, D.C. We were fortunate enough to get the White House tour in advance, and it was spectacular. I took this photo of Simon in the East Room, looking down the main hall. I explained to him that a number of presidents gave historic speeches standing in the very same spot. I think he was marginally impressed.

We took four cruises this year. We keep taking these cruises because they offer him a chance to be autonomous while we can relax. He's always well taken care of by the crew, and especially the youth counselors, even if some of the kids there can be dicks. As of now, he's "graduated" out of the tween club, so it's all Vibe now. He's not really a Disney nerd, but for now at least, he still thinks it's cool when Spider-Man comes around.

As I said, high school is hard. But it was important to see him get middle school out of the way. His support system in that school was mostly excellent, and led by his amazing principal. In fact, she's still helping him out.

The coolest cruise we did included the inaugural stops at Disney's new island spot, Lookout Cay at Lighthouse Point or some awkward name like that. He doesn't really hang out with us much on the beach now, because of the teen activities, but in this case we were sharing a cabana with friends, and he stayed with us. Can you even believe that water is real?

I used to go to a lot of ride openings and media days at amusement parks, but that hobby has faded so much. I'm just not in those loops (see what I did there?) like I used to be. But this year I did get to take him to SeaWorld and ride their new family roller coaster.

Back on the cruise circuit, we took this photo with Kruno from Croatia, who has worked on DCL for more than a decade. We have a photo of Simon with him from 2014, where he very patiently talked to him and helped him get comfortable with the food options. You don't forget that kindness. Simon's a lot taller, and Kruno is a little grayer, but these memories continue to be made. Also, you can see that we still like each other at dinner.

Simon is knocking out his art elective this year by taking tech theater. Here he's helping paint the set for their production of Hadestown. Diana and I found community and belonging in theater when we were younger, and we hoped that the same would be true for him. Unfortunately, it hasn't worked out that way. The teacher is... not optimal... and frankly even the theater kids have found ways to be unkind and exclusionary toward him.

For Christmas, our Seattle counterparts came to visit. When Simon was born there, we thought that he and his cousins would grow up together, but because of the house situation and frankly not great short-term decisions, we ended up moving away. We took a picture of the cousins on a cruise when they were little, and this year we recreated it in our kitchen.

Food is still challenging, which I guess isn't that surprising because it is for me too. But we've slowly opened him up a little to at least new places to eat, even if it doesn't involve new items. And it's kind of nice to get him out and just talk to him, away from school stuff and routine.

While things may not be going well in high school theater, the kid does love to go to shows. In this case, we took him and our Estonian/world traveler friend Kairi to see Mama Mia. I wasn't sure that he'd be into it, but there was enough comedy that he enjoyed it.

Also at the theater, we watched Jurassic Park while the Orlando Philharmonic played the music live. This sort of thing is kind of neat for us, as the movie stretches across generations. He responds to music, often in unexpected ways, and never the things that I would expect. He listens to music constantly.

There is so much competing for my attention right now, mostly in negative ways, that I just can't respond. I usually use writing as a coping mechanism for the parts of life that I find difficult, but I wouldn't know where to start. Also, I feel less inclined to be as open about stuff as I'm used to.

I hope to think of something trivial to write about soon.