life hangs in the balance

I think about death a lot, but have been contemplating it even more this week, as my kitty, Syntha, lies in a hospital cage with a deadly virus-parasite combo. Siezed by the #2 killer of cats, she fights for her little life as it hangs in the balance.

I've had many cats in my life, but unlike the others, this cat is my soul-mate, my familiar. I would be devastated if I lost her. For the first few days after admitting her to the hospital, I found myself swinging wildly between best and worst-case scenarios.

Grief-stricken in advance. Overwhelmed with the decision of what to do with her little body if she should die. Dreading the continuation of living in a villa we moved into only three months ago, largely due to it having the perfect garden for her to play in.

Then, while pleading for her life, to no one in particular, I imagined the astonishment of the vets at her miraculous recovery. I saw her returning to her garden, climbing trees, napping in the bushes, and digging in the dirt. Snuggles and purrs, with my feline best friend, one of the three she-migos.

Both were pure fantasy: machinations of fear, an attempt to control uncertainty. It occurred to me that perhaps these efforts were not only futile but unhelpful.

Perhaps, I didn't need to control a hopeful outcome with my imagination or mitigate the pain of an impending loss. Could it be that this experience was asking me to expand my capacity for ambiguity?

I decided to let Syntha hang in the balance, without having to 'solve' the problem of life or death. Anything could happen, and I didn't need to figure it out. The outcome was unknown, and that was okay. Syntha became my literal Schrödinger's cat – a surprisingly peaceful idea to dwell upon.

Within this allowance, a clear-headed conversation with life became possible. It went something like this:

If this is indeed her time to go, how selfish of me would it be to insist that she stay? She's a free agent, on her own path with her own timing. I whispered long-distance words to her hospital kennel, assuring her that if it was her time, I supported her, and I would do anything I could to help her have as painless a death as possible.

If, however, it was not her time, I wanted to help with that too.

Instead of fighting the raging virus with only the life force of her own body, I gave her some of mine. Then, I imagined my daughter contributing, which I later learned she'd actually been doing as well. A triangle of life force energy flowed circuitously between us. Then, something unexpected happened – a fourth contributor emerged in the middle. It was Life, herself.

The next day, Syntha was in high spirits and had recovered from the feverish and despondent state we'd last seen her in. Several days later, she stabilized, and now she's coming home. Our miracle kitty.

I used to be certain about many things.
Now I'm certain about one thing only: life is always uncertain.

Clinging desperately to certainty doesn't change that fact; it only renders you blind, disconnected from life, and living in a fantasy land. In fantasy, there is an illusion of control, but there is no life. In the balance, the illusion of control is gone, but in its place hangs life, freedom, and power.

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