Leaving behind Bumbi

I finally got official word yesterday from the school in Angola that, for several valid reasons I won't go into, Bumbi can't come with us. I read the email, and then read it again. It took me about 10 minutes until I just started crying. Poor Joel was in the middle of eating his dinner and didn't really know what to do with me. What can you do? I'm sad. It's a sad thing to have to do- and only time will heal the break in my heart that will come with leaving him.

For those of you who might know me a little better, that last paragraph might have come as a bit of a surprise. Sure, I've always had my cats and I have taken care of them pretty well- but pets are pets. I have always made fun of people who view their pets as kids- especially couples who take on a parent role- gack! No worries, I don't feel that I have done that with Bumbi- but what is very clear to me, is that we have established a very strong bond. Not like mother and child- but like pet and owner- two beings that in their own unique way depend on each other for certain things. Bumbi needs me for food and water and a warm place to stay, and, the petting and cuddles are obviously appreciated as well.

This brings the question though- if Bumbi needs me, do I need him? It turns out, that I do. (Or I did.)

Last week I had a very interesting conversation with my therapist. We had missed a few weeks of appointments, because she had been off furthering her own education, among other things. At one point, she had the privilege of having a one on one session with a respected German psychotherapist. She chose to use that time to talk to him about me, and how she helps me through our work together.

What the man ended up telling her was about a now documented syndrome (if you will) that shows up in the third generation of immigrant families-rootlessness. Now, I'm not going to be able to explain it here as well as she explained it to me- but basically, it has been found that the emotional effects of immigrating are greatest on the third generation- it goes something like- the people that are adults when they leave tend to just shut down about where they are leaving. They block it out, and make life happen in the new place (these would have been my grandparents). I don't remember exactly what she explained about the second generation (my parents)- either way, it was not as bad. But the third generation (me, my brothers and all my Latvian American friends!) are the ones that are hit the hardest by the feeling of rootlessness. It's just a feeling of not having roots- not here, not there- not anywhere.

She said that the third generation tends to deal with it in one of three ways- by rooting deeply (please Aussies- I'm speaking American here- think rooting like sending down roots, not, well, you know!) in the new culture/country, by returning to the original culture/country and desperately seeking/forcing roots, or, the third variation- by being wanderers. Clearly, I have fallen into the second and third categories of dealing. But, it seems the second option didn't work out for me- I didn't find and couldn't force my roots here. So I am left as a wanderer; searching for the place where I will someday feel is the right place to send down my own roots.

The added "bonus" I had in exacerbating this "syndrome" is that I come from a core family that is not all that close. I don't mean we don't love each other, or care about each other deeply, but lets face it- we are a divorced family, expanded and changed greatly by remarriages. Because divorced/expanded families are now more normal than ever, a lot of people admire how my family has handled these changes- after the initial ugliness my parents have done a great job of getting along, and all four of them can not only be around each other, but can even enjoy each other's company. That is all fine and good- and I am very glad that at my wedding I won't have to worry about my parents duking it out or anything- but, when it comes down to it- for a child, the family is the family- my core family will never change- my parents and my two brothers. And the truth is that this core family was torn apart, and unfortunately, it wasn't dealt with enough at the time, and at least in my experience, it has had lasting effects. It seems I ended up feeling more rootless than ever because even though we all lived in Kzoo, my brothers ended up leaving for the west, searching out their own fortunes- my parents both remarried and gained new families- and there I was, wondering, where the heck do I belong? Obviously, I didn't feel it was there- and I left for China.

My rootlessness has already been altered by finding Joel, and even more so, now that we have made the choice to form our own family. I think that the future is bright for me concerning finding my roots- or I guess, finding a place that I will choose to send down my roots.

But, coming back to the subject at hand- I wonder if Bumbi wasn't my first roots- and if this isn't the reason that I can't think about leaving him without bawling (a reaction that I will say, I never had when leaving my family to move abroad). When Bumbulis came into my life I would say that it was at a time that I was feeling as rootless as ever, and incredibly alone. He came into my life and became a partner in being. For as silly as it sounds, he was there when I didn't feel like I had anyone to turn to. It was a feeling of "somebody, or something, needs me". It was just the smallest sense of roots.

Having uncovered all of this, I am not surprised in the least that I am such a mess about leaving him behind. I have asked basically everyone I know to take him- but alas, a pet is a pet is a big responsibility. I desperately wanted to keep him in the family- meaning, living with someone, anyone, that I might someday visit again, and therefore have a chance to see him. But nothing has come up.

What sucks is that all of this is made even worse by the fact that he is just plain the coolest cat EVER. He is big and beautiful, and greets me at the door when I come home and follows me around the house, and sleeps by my feet, or nestled against my back at night. Sometimes, he even perches right on my chest if I'm sleeping on my back. Yeah, he weighs a lot, and it makes it just the slightest bit hard to breathe, but, the weight is almost a comfort- if he's happy, I'm happy. When I cook dinner he comes in the kitchen and sits on the chair and watches what I'm doing. When I'm working at the computer he curls up on my computer bag right at my feet- just to stay close. When Joel and I leave for work in the morning, he is always there at the door, watching us leave. As, I said, when I come home, he is also always there- he greets me at the door, I say,"Hi Bumbi!" and he answers. Sure like any cat he can be mischievous- he jumps up on things he's not meant to, he drank out of the fish bowl when Oscar Goldman was still with us, he eats our (GG's) plants (but not the grass I grow for him)- and when he gets crazy, then he runs around the house like his bum is on fire, crashing into things, knocking things over, etc. But even after that, when he's done, he comes and flops down next to you, and turns his belly up for a rub. Ah, he is just the coolest cat EVER.

My plan to deal with leaving him is to make sure that I get lots of photos of him in the next month- to keep taking photos until I even find one that I want to frame. (God, I'm listening to myself and wondering where thoughts like these come from concerning a pet- but alas, it turns out he's been much more than just a pet). And yeah, when I end up dropping him off where ever his new home will be, I will look him in the eye, thank him for what he has been to me, and let him know that if there was any other way, I would take him with me. And one day, I expect to be able to stop crying about it.