A Week Of Partings

Book of the Week: Cold Granite by Stuart MacBride

Coconut went to his new home yesterday. I was acutely aware that Friday was my last full day with him, and one of the last things I did yesterday was give him a bath and trim his nails. I was so relieved when I got the e-mail from Kin last Sunday informing me that Minni wanted a guinea pig for her daughter, but now that he’s gone I miss him so much. I started welling up when I gave him his goodbye cuddle, cried all the way home in the car, cried again when I saw the empty space in the kitchen where his enclosure used to be, and then some more when I went to put something in the bin and, almost by reflex, looked sideways, expecting to see him peeking up at me, but heard no paper rustling. It’s really amazing how a little creature can become so much a part of your life in just three months. As I told a very sleepy Gareth (in Adelaide) on the phone later that night when missing Coconut became too much, I really don’t know how people cope with giving their kids up for adoption.

But I’m trying to convince myself that it’s all for the best. I can’t take him with me, and should be happy that someone wants him. I can also see him any time I want. He wasn’t mine to have in the first place – I was only ever to be guardian angel for a little while until he found a permanent home. Still, although here I am trying to reason it all out through my writing and talk myself into believing the logic, all I really want is to have him back. I have my fears and misgivings (which stem from the fact that I think I am Coconut’s best mummy – I know I am) and have this awful nightmare in which I get a call two days after giving him away and am told that he’s broken his back and died due to mishandling. That would just kill me – I’d feel like I had sent him to his death. I don’t think I will go away with complete peace of mind, but I guess I have no choice but to have faith in my friends to take good care of him. I just pray Bethany will be gentle with Coconut, and Robert won’t decide to use the stair landing for floor time. And that he’ll get plenty of (good) attention, his nails clipped and perhaps even a friend.

After two wonderful weeks together (a disproportionate amount of which was spent exploring temples, eating and meeting my relatives), I saw Gareth off on Thursday night. I knew I’d get him to the airport on time, but there were split-seconds when I had my doubts. We both had farty jobbies and actually had to come up back to the flat again for a second round of creating Jackson Pollock-esque artwork on the toilet bowls. (And yet, for all our trouble battling dodgy tums and almost literally holding it all in, he still didn’t make it to Adelaide as planned.) We’ll meet up again a week on Tuesday, which is perhaps why I don’t miss him nearly as much as I miss Coconut. I don’t have nightmares about Gareth breaking his back because he’s big enough – in more ways than one – to take care of himself. Coconut isn’t, and that’s what breaks my heart.

I think, in a way, the three days I spent back home with Gareth earlier this week were also a parting of sorts with my family. I won’t see them for almost a year, two if I don’t come home next Chinese New Year. The meals we had together were a series of slow goodbyes. I’ll miss the dogs the most. I can always call home and talk to my folks and relatives, and vice-versa, but it’s not like Dusty and Lucky can just pick up the phone or learn how to use Skype. Dusty is already 13, and just like for Coconut, I have this terrible fear that I will get a phone call telling me that she is no longer with us. She’s looking healthy though, but I pray that day is a long way off. I really don’t know how I’d handle grieving for a loved one so far away from home. I’m the sort who needs, who wants to be there. I wouldn’t feel like I’d said my goodbyes properly otherwise and I think I’d carry a sense of not having closure for the rest of my life if I didn’t.

Cold Granite reminds me of Scotland so much. (But that’s really a stupid thing to say, because it’s a Scottish book, for feck’s sake. Set in Aberdeen and written by a guy who lives in the area.) And it also reminds me that I still have a lot of packing and writing to do. I should be panicking, but I’m not, for some (probably very scary) reason. Gareth says we can have another guinea pig when I go back. It won’t be Coconut, but it’s a start.

Factoids of the Week:
The average annual income in Cambodia, one of the poorest countries in the world, hovers around the US$300 mark. Over three and a half days ferrying us about the sights of Siem Reap, our tuk-tuk driver, Kim Soryar, earned just under 25% of what his less fortunate countrymen did in a year.

Dogs wag their tails in different directions depending on their moods. Vigorous wags to the right if they want to play; ditto, but milder, if they see a cat or human they like; to the left if they are upset or see a rival.

Just because someone mentioned it and I didn’t know anything about it, I looked up bipolar disorder. Untreated patients with Bipolar I Disorder usually have eight to 10 episodes of mania and depression in their lifetime, and an approximately 15% risk of death by suicide. It is the third leading cause of death among people aged 15-24 years, and is the sixth leading cause of disability (lost years of healthy life) for people aged 15-44 years in the developed world. Women with Bipolar I Disorder lose, on average, nine years in life expectancy, 14 years of lost productivity and 12 years of normal health.

Minni said last night she feels very strongly I am gifted. Ummm. I very much doubt it, but Googled “genius” anyway. Discovered that Thomas Jefferson invented everyday, take-for-granted objects like the swivel chair and pedometer, among several others, but never patented any of them because he wanted people to have free use of them.