The Three Kitties That
Saved My Life
by Michael Meyer
Inspirational Romance
Categories: Memoir, Love and Loss
Publisher: Pacific Books
Release
Date: April 23, 2013
Heat Level: Sweet
Length: 134 pages
Available at:
Description:
AN UPLIFTING TRUE STORY OF LOVE
Losing loved ones is an awful fact of life; losing one's
loving spouse, one's day-to-day partner through life, especially in the prime
of life, is one of the most unbearable tolls that we
humans are forced to endure. This is the true story of my journey from grieving
widower, not caring if I lived or died, to the once-again happily married man I
am today, a man who both loves and cherishes life. My three kitties have given
me a new zest for living.
Both
inspiring and entertaining, my story might just make you laugh at times, or
bring a tear to your eye, as you journey along with me.
About the Author:
Mike Meyer recently retired from 40-year career as an English
professor. He literally taught at universities throughout the world: Thailand,
Saudi Arabia, the Virgin Islands, and he spent the last 24 years of his
teaching career at a California community college. He lives in Southern
California wine country with his wife, Kitty, and their two adorable rescue
cats. Contact Mike on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/MichaelMeyersWritingLife.
LINK TO SCHEDULE:
Excerpt
My
life with my cat, Coco, was good. We had a lot of fun together. Every day was
joyful. I never knew from one day to the next what type of trouble the little
guy would get himself into. There was always something new to explore, a new
pose to assume.
But
I still ached for close human contact. I wanted to be hugged. I wanted to be
held in someone’s arms. I wanted to be loved, and to love, but I was scared and
I also felt guilty feeling these thoughts, although I realized that they were
all rational. I just could not force myself to take the first step in this
direction. I would see couples holding hands, and I would be jealous. I would
see couples embrace, and I would yearn for the same. I wanted to be with
someone who cared for me, and I for her. However, the guilt at thinking such a
thing, that I was somehow betraying the commitment that I had made to my
deceased wife, still ate at me.
I
was scared—of both the future and of what the past had already done to me. No
matter how hard I tried, I just could not shake the feeling that somehow I
would be betraying Ciba if I sought love again.
I knew I was not thinking logically, but logic really had nothing to do
with any of it. I was a lost man, and I so desperately wanted to be found. But
that first step was huge, and it was so painful to contemplate.
“Tiny
steps now, Mike,” I remember telling myself, but saying and doing are not the
same.
It
was clear that my legal commitment to her, “to love and to cherish until death
do us part,” had been fully met, but the powerful emotional attachment still
clung to me. I wanted to get on with my
own life, but I could not. Time had frozen for me, and I was its prisoner.
I
fought to move on, but I just could not. It was too painful. I spent huge
chunks of my waking hours inside my head, trying to think things through. I
listened to my sisters, and to my friends. My library of books and pamphlets on
how to deal with losing one’s spouse kept growing.
I
read everything I could get my hands on, but nothing could help me to break
away from my thoughts of guilt. I read and reread, several times over, my
complete library on coping with grief. I practically memorized each work. I
could have been a professional grief counselor since I knew so much by now. The
things I read were wonderfully written, right to the heart. I cherished every
word, but still nothing seemed to really provide the jolt that I required.
That
is until one day on the Internet, I stumbled upon a two-page response that a
rabbi had written to a young woman who had posed the question, “How will I ever
date again?” a year after the loss of her husband. For the first time since I
had begun to scratch the urge to meet someone, the rabbi’s words had a profound
impact on me, so profound, that after reading and rereading his words, after
savoring every word, after thinking deeply about what he was saying, I was
convinced that wanting to start dating was not only the right thing to do, but
that it was exactly what my deceased wife would want me to do.
The
whole two-page response made total sense to me, but the part that really
convinced me was the following passage: “Your husband loved you and you loved
your husband—you will never forget that. But his memory should not be a dark
cloud that haunts your existence. Your memory of his life should be an
inspiration, not a painful albatross.”
Pow!
I had been hit smack dab over the head with precisely what my own problem was.
I had defined myself as a widower. I was a widower. Everyone I met, learned
this. The word defined my very existence.
And
I was a widower, but that was not the whole me. I was also much more
than that. I had forced my life into a box, and now it was time to climb out
from that confinement. I would do so with love and dignity, never forgetting
how my deceased wife had loved me and how I still loved her. I knew in my heart
that she would want me to be happy. The rabbi’s words convinced me of that.
I
had no idea how to date. What would I say? How would I act? Where would I meet
someone?
My three kitties and I are delighted to be here today. Thank you so much.
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