No Woman Left behind.

For a moment, I thought I wasn’t going to make it.

Fighting against every obstacle known to woman: the wind, the snow, the whiteout blizzard, the exhaustion weighing my legs down, the hunger, the cold, the depletion of my energy as we trudged on across this frozen lake, the only thing that kept me going were my friends.

Cause there we were, out in the middle of this damn lake fighting our way to Portage Glacier.

And there I was, lagging behind, deliriously wandering off-path and wondering if I was going to make it.

See, I don’t have the best luck with winter hikes.

In fact, this is my third attempt at hiking out to a glacier during the winter, and the third time I haven’t been able to make it to my destination.

Then again, it’s not really about the destination now, is it?

It’s about the journey.

And this? It was exactly that.

(well, and dining at Jack Sprats afterward)

When I think about it, about how we were out there for most of the day averaging one mile an hour plodding through the snow across the magnificent frozen expanse, I don’t remember Portage Glacier at the end.

Oh no. What I remember best is the the company I was with.

The crew that helped guide me back on track when I became disoriented by the endless stretch of white. The same friends that drank out of the flask with me and brought along a bottle of bubbles to celebrate with, and who encouraged the others that we were only “five minutes away!”

That’s what I’ll remember: that crew.

And in all honesty, how ordinary would this experience have been had there not been this challenging blizzard to hike through?

Pretty darn ordinary.

So yeah, while I wondered for a brief moment if I was going to make it out alive, I also knew that the friends I was with just wouldn’t leave “no woman behind!”

And here I am.

Minnie & Fudge.

Dear Minnie,

Minnie? Who’s Minnie?

Minnie was our beloved family dog, this big scruffaluffagous malamute that was a big part of my childhood when we first moved to Alaska. When she passed about seven years ago, I was heartbroken, naturally. The idea of never being able to talk to her again or cry my heart out in her fluffy fur frightened me, and so I continued talking to her: in my journal.

Dear Minnie.

Well, she has company now.

Because the other day, we had to say another unfortunate goodbye; but this time, to our dearest cat Fudge.

See, the first time I met Fudge, she was drinking out of the toilet.

(way to make an unforgettable entrance, am I right?)

This was after my sister and I shyly asked our host if we could bring her inside, as she had been trying to sip out of a frozen water dish.

Instantly connecting with this precious kitty, we didn’t know that a couple of months later she would be joining our family, and would continue to be a part of it for another sixteen years.

Boy that cat was purrfect.

Fudge was our first family cat and she was something special. Regal, well-groomed, dignified, and ever so curvaceous (not fat), this kitty commanded attention whenever she walked through the room.

When Minnie passed, Fudge was there to console me, as she had lost a best friend too. Whenever my heart got broken, Fudge was there, purring on my lap. Getting ready for bed, you can bet that Fudge was there, kneading on my chest and drooling ever so slightly. And whenever I went outside to mow the lawn, there she was, meowing at the door, begging to join me in the sunshine.

I mean for sixteen years, this cat was by my side. Literally, she slept with me nearly every night.

And this week, we had to say our goodbyes.

I gotta tell you- it does not get easier.

I first noticed something amiss about a week ago. She had been moving slower for quite some time, gracefully aging like the queen she was, but over the weekend, something just changed.

One day she was fine and then the next… she wasn’t.

Her decline into old age was visible, and it was breaking my goddamn heart seeing her in so much pain.

Her time was coming, and it was not something I wanted to accept, at first.

Still timid and tender form the tumultuous emotional growth of the last few months, knowing that it was her time was the last thing I wanted to deal with.

I felt like I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t prepared, and I certainly wasn’t in the right emotional state to say goodbye to someone that I loved with all my heart.

Please, not now. Not ever. Aren’t cats supposed to have nine lives?

But I also knew that deep down, it was time.

So on an ordinary afternoon, my entire family went with her to the vet and stayed by her side as she delicately went to sleep.

Minnie, it was devastating. I don’t know where the endless supply of tears came from, but they never stopped. I was crushed. A Fudge sized hole was left in my heart and I wept and grieved for days.

I’m still grieving.

I miss seeing her face in my bedroom window. I mourn the emptiness of where her food and water bowls used to be. I feel sorrow for the silence of my family’s home where her meows used to ring loud.

I miss her.

This wretched goodbye reminds me of a quote I came across recently, a Roman proverb about fate.

“Fate leads the willing; the unwilling it drags.”

As much as I selfishly wanted her to live out the rest of her nine lives, I also knew that her time with us was the end of one chapter and the start of another.

This time, with Minnie.

So Minnie, you’ve got your best friend back. And I can’t wait to see you both in my journal.

Dear Minnie. Dear Fudge.