Chronically Elle

Tag: love

  • My Girl

    Revised Workshop Piece

    By Elle Noecker

    Growing up and moving on at the same time…

    Ellie

    They say your life flashes before your eyes the moment you knock upon death’s door. How beautiful it is to think that you get to relive your entire existence right before it comes to an end? I imagine my body shutting down for good while my mind thinks it all just begun. Machines beeping to the rhythm of my ever slowing heart rate in a hospital room perfumed with sterilizers and sadness.  

    But my mind will be elsewhere and I’ll believe it’s telling me the truth. We will be reunited. Lying below the Christmas tree while laughter rings like jingle bells and the only beeping I’ll hear is from the oven signaling warm cookies are ready to be eaten by the fire with a glass of milk and my soul girl at my side.  

    God, I pray she sees the same.  

    Tigerlilly

    Gentle hands reach down and enclose my tiny body. The hands are warm and soft. I too, am quite soft, covered in feather like fur– but this moment is my first time experiencing warmth.  

    Every day of my life so far has been the same. A cycle of struggling against my much larger siblings for food, feeling the briskly conditioned air bite at my ears and nose, and then curling up against metal bars as I fall asleep, tiny belly empty.  

    But now, my body is enclosed by human palms and I am suspended in the air. Though the tile floor lays seemingly miles below me and I should be fearful of falling, I have never felt safer. My wide eyes fall shut and my body begins to vibrate just enough for the safe hands to notice. Light fingers stroke my head. For a moment, I forget about hungry nights and metal cages. For a moment, I think I know peace. We start to move as the large human carries me away. I never look back.

    baby Wissy before adoption!

    Please take me home.

    Ellie

    Reality is an ugly thing. Its walls close in around me until my lungs are compressed so hard that I am unable to produce sound and my sobs fall silent. I just had to hang up the phone on mom. My final goodbye being through a cellphone screen was never how this was supposed to go. I was supposed to be there at her side. And it wouldn’t be any time soon, it would be years from now when I’d have graduated college and her fur would be the color of the snow that covered the ground the day we met.

    But mom and dad just dropped me off last week and her coat is still vibrant. I know I had to leave but it’s too soon for her to do the same.  

    My chest aches and my eyes are flooded. I whisper into the air the only words that make any sort of sense right now:

    “I love you, I love you, I love you.”  

    Tigerlilly

    I hear the phrase repeated three times as a new set of hands reaches down to lift me. I’ve been in a box for a little while now, it’s dark. But I have been curled up on a warm blanket drifting in and out of sleep. I don’t know where I am. But I know this isn’t the shelter. Wherever I am, it no longer smells of ammonia, litter, and the kibble I never got to eat. Instead the air is permeated in pine, peppermint, and particularly enticing paper. And as this small human picks me up, I recognize the scent of the blanket on her hands. I put the pieces together. The blanket in my box belongs to this child, a young girl in pink pajamas who I estimate to be five years of age. Human years are unfamiliar to me, but I know this child. I am not sure how, I have never seen her before. But her tender embrace assures me that we are family. I jolt as the girl clutches me so tight to her chest that I am no longer comfortable in her narrow boney arms. But I don’t mind. When she finally sets me down on the carpet I eagerly explore my new home.  

    I have food with no competition for the first time ever, a clean litter box, piles of toys but I’d rather play with the shredded paper scattered all over the living room floor. In the corner rests a plush pink bed.  

    After the first day of the rest of my life comes to a close, the little girl called Ellie and I fall asleep in the living room under the massive pine tree. I press my small body against hers as my soft purrs coax us into deep dreams, though both of ours just came true. There is a feeling in my heart that fills my skinny abdomen. It is warm and calm. I haven’t been to many places, but this feeling tells me there is nowhere I would rather be.  

    Ellie  

    I never claimed to be a good actor. I don’t hide my emotions well. But I can’t have anyone read my face because I know they’ll ask what’s wrong, and I’ll be left with two options: cry or lie. And when I choose the latter, I’ll still end up bawling and the person who checked on me will feel obligated to try to comfort me, and though I’ll appreciate their good intentions, I know we will both be wishing they never asked in the first place. It’ll be an awkward mess. And the other part is– they’ll never get it. No one will understand the profound loss I have just been faced with. The way a piece of me has just been ripped from my heart by the violent claws of death. I’ll bleed out until I’m empty and then some. Nothing can repair this wound. Not a “so sorry” or a “here for you.” Not a phone call or distraction. And definitely not a hug from my new roommate I barely know.  

    Hot tears slide down my cheeks and dramatically splat onto the paper below me. It’s the second week of class and supposed to be the start of the best years of my life. And those best years are nowhere in sight at the moment. And they won’t be ever. Because how can I live my best years without her? Who even am I without her?  

    Tigerlilly

    I have learned that Christmas comes once every year. I am a Christmas kitty. Ellie calls me a “Christmas miracle.” I was too young to remember exactly how I got home, but according to Ellie I was brought down the chimney by a large man in a red suit named Santa. Though I can’t recall this day, I know that Santa is my hero because he brought me to my family. Christmas is my favorite time of year. But I have also come to love birthdays. Birthdays come more often, five times a year to be exact– one for each member of my family. Birthdays are second best to Christmas because they also involve wrapping paper. And I love wrapping paper. When I was a kitten, my favorite game was when Ellie would crumple up a small piece like a ball and throw it for me to chase down the hallway. My paws would slide on the shiny floors as I would bat the paper ball around and show it who’s boss. But now, I just like to lay on it. I’d choose wrapping paper over my bed any day.  

    Ellie

    My English homework for the day is to write a poem using nature as symbolism. A particular flower comes to mind. She comes to mind. It’s two weeks now and I still can’t focus on any task at hand. How do people do this? How do people let go?  

    (tiger lilys near my house)

    Everyone tells me she’s in a better place and I know. I know. I know. But it’s not enough to ease the ache. I write my poem and send it to mom. It makes her cry. If anyone understands, it’s her. She copes by keeping it in. Being strong for me. But I know she needs her too. And I’m not home. So the house is twice as empty.  

    Mom and her best friend

    Tigerlilly

    Ellie tries to get me to play. She waves a small mouse toy by the tail, swaying it in front of my eyes like a clock. When I don’t budge, she finds a piece of ribbon on the floor from her birthday last week and slowly drags it across my paw as if I’ll decide to swipe at it. But why would I move my body when I can just stay here on the old red couch? I spent what energy I had left today making my way up the steps Mom put out for me when I stopped being able to jump up on my own. She tries countless methods but I won’t give in. Not even the scent of catnip Ellie waves in front of my nose is enough to get me off the cushion. Or the leftover wrapping paper ball that she tosses up and down.  

    When I still won’t stir, she looks disappointed but unsurprised. With a sigh, she climbs up beside me on the couch and we both start to doze off from the vibrations of my relentless purr. She just turned fifteen. And though I don’t really know what that means, I do know her hands that gently stroke my head are much bigger now than they were when she first picked me up all that time ago.  

    This is my idea of a good time. No catnip could ever beat a cat-nap on the couch with my girl. I curl up on the wrapping paper she left out just for me.  

    I think sometimes Ellie worries about me because I just don’t like to move. But I don’t want her to worry. I have food, paper to lay on, and a family that loves me. I couldn’t be happier.  

    Ellie  

    I’m in bed, wide awake at hours I don’t even want to know, tossing and turning until I decide sleep isn’t in the picture and I flip my lamp light on. My custom pillow with her photo on it resting beneath my head is still damp from the tears I shed over the past two hours. I sit up and position myself to lean against it. She still finds a way to be my support system, even in pillow form. The thought almost makes me smile.

    I grab my phone off my bedside table. When I can’t escape my own head, music can take me away. Popping in my earbuds, I open Spotify and shuffle my “Calm” playlist to try and ease the queasy feeling in my gut that hasn’t left since she did. But when the first song to start playing is “chemtrails” by Lizzy McAlpine I knew I had made a grave mistake. My calming playlist is coincidently composed of mostly sad songs. Anything with a slow melody and acoustic production. And of the course the first song to make its way to my ears is a story about the loss of a family member and the struggle to continue on the path of life without them. I’ve read in the past that Mcalpine wrote the song about her dad passing away. The person in her life who taught her to ride a bike, read her bedtime stories and held her close when she cried.  

    And here I am, choking on my own sobs over a cat.  

    Tigerlilly

    Ellie just graduated high school. I can tell because she prances through the front door in a beautiful white dress, a red rose in her hand. The house is decorated with photos of her and I watch through the window as people start filing in the backyard for a large celebratory dinner on the patio. Apparently there’s a cake, because mom came inside to find me with frosting on her finger tip. I perk up from my nap to lick her hand clean. Giggling at the sensation of my scratchy tongue (it gets them everytime) she says something softly about how bigger kitties like me really shouldn’t be eating cake frosting, but “life is short.” And I’m starting to think she might be right.  

    Later that evening, mom starts bringing inside leftover food and decorations as people start to leave our house. She carries in a large cardboard poster and leans it against the living room wall. Despite the ache in my joints that creak when I walk, my curiosity takes over as I manage to stand up and cross the room to get a closer examination. I find that the piece of cardboard is completely covered in photos of Ellie throughout her life. A photo of her as a baby from a time when I wasn’t around yet. A recent photo of her with her friends in fancy flowing dresses. An older photo where she smiles ear to ear, holding a fistful of swimming medals she won. Eventually, my eyes land on a particular photo that takes me back to a time where my memory is almost as fuzzy as the little runt in the picture. A miniature version of Ellie stands in front of a Christmas tree in her pink pajamas, cradling a miniature version of me. I start to smell the pine, peppermint, and that particularly enticing paper. My vague but fond memories begin to form in my mind like a dream. Pressing my large body against the cardboard to be as close to these moments in time as possible, I curl up and drift off.  

    (This specific photo is from my older brother’s graduation. She did this for both of us!)

    ~~~

    Through my years, I have learned the signs when my family is about to leave for a trip. They always come back, but I can tell this trip is going to be longer than usual. I know this because packing usually takes about a day. But throughout the past three weeks, bins have continued to pile up containing only things that belong to Ellie. I’m not sure what it implies, but I can feel her excited energy radiating every time she talks to mom about her new roommates and classes and future. But I know she gets sad too. Because every time she comes to find me on the couch, she holds me a little tighter than the time before. In the past I might have growled expressing my discomfort. But I can tell she needs me close, and I don’t resist because I need her just the same.  

    Ellie  

    I’m not one for dramatic Instagram posts. I’m never looking for any sort of attention or pity. That’s the last thing I want right now. But I need people to know. My childhood friends. My extended family. My former classmates. The first thing all of them ever knew about me was that I have an overweight cat nicknamed “Wiss” who is my entire world and the center of my existence. Wiss is an icon to anyone who knows me and it would be disrespectful not to give her the memorial she deserves. I’ve spent the past two hours in bed curled up underneath my custom blanket with photos of her (yes, I have a blanket and a pillow) scrolling through hundreds of photos of my girl. I make a collection of the ones that best capture her personality. Judgmental. Funny. Loving. Goofy. Smart. Not-so-smart. And everything in between that made her who she was. I manage to narrow it down to twenty (the max amount possible by Instagram) and upload them with a caption:  

    “My Wissy,

    The day you arrived as a tiny, wide eyed, Christmas miracle the idea of losing you absolutely terrified me, and I never imagined that day would come so soon. To the funniest, most family loving, big in heart and size, best kitty in the whole world— thank you for being my best friend, my comfort, my rock. Thank you for making us laugh every day and being the center of our family. The biggest blessing of my childhood. Anyone who’s met you knows how special you truly are. And though our house will never be the same without you, I feel so relieved knowing that you are at peace and comfort. I love and miss you forever and ever, Chunk. You are an absolute legend.

    Tigerlilly “Wiss”:10/4/11-8/19/24 🕊️🌈💕”

    Tigerlilly

    I haven’t been feeling well and mom notices. I know it hurts her that I haven’t been eating. I know her heart sinks every time I refuse the water she holds in a bowl under my white chin.  

    I sense that Ellie leaves tomorrow. She spends most of her day by my side. I haven’t gotten up since last night and as evening nears I can tell she senses I’m not well. But my girl has always been an optimist. Mom says she’ll take me to the vet as soon as she’s back from moving Ellie into college. Whether it’s frosting I shouldn’t have or a vet visit, mom always knows as well as I do, exactly what I need.  

    It’s morning now but still so early that only dim moonlight shows through the curtains. Ellie hauls a final suitcase down the stairs, tosses it to the side and lays down on the floor in front of me. Keeping my head down, I slowly open my eyes as water wells in hers.  

    Wrapping her arms around my body she leans in close and says “don’t worry. I’ll see you in three months when I come to visit.” For the first time in my life, I’m glad I can’t speak because I don’t have the courage to tell her that won’t be true. It’s her time to grow up and move on, so I know it shall be mine.

    Kissing my velvet forehead one last time, she whispers the words “I love you, I love you, I love you.”  

    last picture before leaving for school

    Ellie (2 years later)

    The first time I came home from college to visit for Thanksgiving was a little jarring. As I hauled my luggage up to the front steps, I noticed a new doormat that certainly was not there when I left three months ago. My feet stepped over the words “must love dogs” and I let out a laugh, joking with my mom that our family pulled a full one-eighty from the old welcome sign that read “Be careful: My cat is judging you.”

    For the past twelve years of my life, my instinct when I walked through the front door was to beeline for Wiss, who would be lying next to the graduation party photo collage with paws placed on the pictures. But this time, I am greeted by a clumsy little red merle Australian Shepherd puppy who joined the family in October, about one month after we said “goodbye” to Wiss. I had a feeling mom wouldn’t last very long without a furry companion.  

    I squat down to meet the new member of the family who licks my cheek with a tongue that certainly belongs to a dog. My family named him “Red,” and my love for him was immediately undeniable. But it didn’t compensate for the emptiness in my heart.

    ~~

    That first Christmas with Red was harder to grapple with than I’d like to admit. It wasn’t the puppy himself, but the lack of my girl. Wiss had defined Christmas for me since I was five-years old. She was the reason I believed in miracles.  

    I watched the chaotic morning unfold in our living room while a wild Red shredded apart pieces of wrapping paper (“Baby shark” quickly became his nickname) while mom struggled to hold on to his leash. Humorous as it was, there were a few moments where I had to look away to fight the stinging in my throat and tears in my eyes. Memories flooded into my mind from over a decade of calm Christmases with a cat who saw wrapping paper as the perfect surface for a nap, purring under the tree. This just wasn’t the same.  

    ~~~

    I have now finished my second year of college and sit in my childhood bedroom where my custom Wiss pillow watches from my bed as I write her story. Her wide-eyes that never lost their kitten-like youth remind me that she never really left. Her ashes sit in a container on the shelf in the living room, next to her painted portrait.

      I don’t think I will ever know what to do without her. But I do know that I experienced a type of love that is immeasurable and irreplaceable. And though I can’t speak for her, I think my girl would agree.

    ❤

    The Wiss Gallery:

    (After two years, I finally got my tattoo in honor of “Wiss.” The flower is a tiger lily, of course :). Now she’s literally by my side forever!)

  • Pet Loss Playlist & Poem

    When I wrote this post, I did not necessarily have the intention of publishing it, but then I found out that September is pet memorial month so I took it as a sign to share. For context, I lost my beloved cat about a year ago, and not a day has gone by where I don’t feel as if a piece of my heart is missing. I find myself writing about her constantly as if somehow I can bring her back to life. This post is very personal to me but I am sharing in hopes that it can provide comfort and validation to anyone who might relate.

    Playlist:

    Whether it’s one lyric or the whole song, each of these songs (and many more but these ones come to mind first) help me feel a little closer to her: 

    • Eternal June, Emma Foley
    • Big Star, Lorde
    • Me & My Dog, boygenius 
    • chemtrails, Lizzy McAlpine
    • A thousand years, Christina Perrie 
    • At the Beach, In Every Life, Gigi Perez
    • marjorie, Taylor Swift
    • waiting, Cassidy Forras

    Poem: The Loss/Love that Never Leaves

    The knife is stuck in my chest.

    It doesn’t lie

     it doesn’t leave

    and it doesn’t let me 

    let go.

    But I wouldn’t if I could.

    The knife is my souvenir, 

    A reminder you were here, 

     you existed,

    and we breathed the same air. 

    The knife punctures my heart;

    not to kill  

     but to immortalize 

    my love,

    like a locket I’ll never lose. 

     The place, we call “home”

     will never truly be home again

     because when I show up 

     you’re not behind the door

    anymore.

    You’re not behind the door,

    But you live behind my eyelids when I sleep,

    Behind the cover of my journal,

    within every creature I meet. 

    Every ray of sun 

    Every rainbow after rain

    And every flower that blooms by the street. 

    The knife impales 

    But I carry it with me

    And eternal pride, I bleed.

    The pain a privilege 

    Proving that you lived,

    And you lived

     Your life 

    beside me. 

    Tigerlilly “Wiss” (my angel girl)

  • God Sends Us Angels 

    My mom recently shared with me a phenomenon that has literally helped her through every stage of her life: “God sends us angels when we need them.” 

    I vaguely remember her describing this to me a while back, but was reminded of the significance of this idea a few weeks ago when I was experiencing an absolute low, feeling like an island, reminiscing on relationships I’ve had in my life, wondering why some had to fade and why others were not serving as prominent of a purpose in my life as they used to. 

    The idea behind this philosophy is that friendships and other relationships will come and go, but almost always with a purpose. Yes, it is based on religious faith and trusting that God’s path for you regarding who you encounter in this life is completely intentional. But the belief does not necessarily require you to practice religion in order to live by it. 

    As a nostalgic person by nature, I have found myself buried in the past countless times and mourning what was, particularly about former connections I made with other people. When I think about my childhood best friends, pets, former mentors in my life, or any kind of meaningful relationship that I once had, I feel disappointed at the realization that the relationship might not exist anymore or I haven’t connected with those people in months or years. But what I have started to realize is that it’s not the length of the connection that matters, it is the impact. Once you establish those bonds, they never completely disappear. The concept is that we are sent the exact people we don’t even realize we need, when we need them most. And when that chapter of life comes to a close, your life might not involve that person as much but that’s okay. The point is, if you pay attention, people are sent to you with purpose whether you notice it in the moment or not. 

    Mom has explained this theory to me by sharing stories of her life. The highs, the lows, the new, the scary, the exciting, and the hopeless. Throughout her years on this Earth she picked up on a pattern. In the times when you feel entirely alone, lost, or confused, there will likely be at least one specific encounter or relationship that miraculously arrives to guide you. If you believe in God, it is highly likely that these people are angels sent to light up the path ahead or help you come to a realization. Whether it was a best friend, a co-worker, a relative, or a complete stranger, she noticed that people weave in and out of our lives with a purpose. 

    When I look back on some of the most challenging periods of my life, usually one of the first things I can recall are the relationships I had during that time. Who was by my side? Who ignited that epiphany? Who held my hand and walked me through the seemingly endless tunnel until we were laughing on the other side of it all? There’s always that one person that stands out. And if not a person, maybe that animal who ran up to you on the street. Maybe it was the teacher who ended class with a powerful statement that made you emotional. Maybe it was the music artist who released a song that articulated your emotions so well it seemingly came straight from your diary. Or perhaps it was the lady in the nail salon who complimented you out of the blue; “you are unique and beautiful.” 

    But these angels are not always easy to recognize. You almost never notice them on the spot because they are hidden in plain sight. When I look back on some of the times I believe I was visited by angels, I realize that in the moment I felt completely isolated and alone. It seemed like no one was there to help, never mind even recognize that I was struggling. But when I look at it now thinking back, I remember that one person who checked in on me. The one conversation that gave me hope. Or the person I observed from a distance who inspired me to persevere whether they knew it or not. I think of that one friend in elementary school who wanted to be my friend when the rest of the class was too busy turning their backs. I think of the people I met through swimming who I only saw a couple times a year but each time we would pick up right where we left off as if we never stopped talking. I think of my cat who absorbed too many of my tears into her fur and never complained (even though she hated being wet). The list goes on and on. But at the end of the day this phenomenon really just serves as a comforting reminder that we are never truly alone, and angels do exist if you open your heart to them. You might not feel it at the moment, but when you see the light at the end of the tunnel you may start to suspect you were guided by some supernatural or spiritual visitor. The bittersweet part is, these angels aren’t always able to stick around forever. As we move through our individual lives we might grow apart, drift, or fade from each other. But that’s completely natural and okay. Just because we don’t talk to or see that person anymore, does not change the fact that the relationship will be treasured forever. When I think of some of the most impactful people in my life I realize how perfect their timing was and it seems to be no coincidence they arrived at my door when they did. 

    Just like not all heroes wear capes, being an angel doesn’t require wings. And the most beautiful part is, though you’ll never know it, you might just be that angel for someone else.

    a text I received from Mom recently that I immediately screenshotted to save as a little reminder. I think she was the angel I needed in this moment!

  • Taylor Swift does NOT think “woe is me.” And certainly neither do I!!!!

    I just had a thought that I really needed to type out. I’ve been in this high state of emotional conflict lately where I feel trapped between showing who I am and owning it, and shying away from it out of fear of how I could be perceived. Specifically regarding EDS. EDS has affected me my entire life. But I always put my head down and stayed quiet through the pain. I took the proper medications and did the right physical therapy, but I hated talking about it and cringed at the term “chronic illness.” How could I possibly be ill if I am competing at national levels in the pool? How could I be both tough and acknowledge this illness at the same time? I always felt that having EDS was something that should be only mentioned if absolutely necessary. Kept on the down low. A secret. 

    With the exponential increase of intensity in training I have experienced since coming to college, my body gave me no choice but to start listening to it and speaking up for myself if I wanted to continue to have success in the pool. The first couple months of my freshman year consisted of constant flareups that I just could not avoid talking about if I wanted to remain the athlete I always was. That “toughness” I carried with me every day had to show up differently, in the sense that I had no choice but to be brave and vulnerable (ew, who wants to be vulnerable?). I began talking to my athletic trainer and my coaches, and finding resources online that helped me understand how my journey might have to look different from the rest of my teammates if I wanted to continue growing as an athlete. Over the past year I have started to learn so much more about my condition and found platforms online that have made me feel so seen and so understood. I started becoming more open to the idea of taking ownership over my condition. Being confronted by these flare ups forced me to start listening to my body and gain more confidence in myself as a zebra (EDS patient). I spent so much time searching for social media accounts run by people just like me, and felt an overwhelming sense of relief and comfort in the fact that I am not alone, most certainly not any less tough for having a chronic illness, and more importantly, for speaking up about it. These accounts inspired me to want to do the same for others (the ultimate purpose of this section of my blog). But this new confidence still came with internal conflict that I am currently struggling to shake. This might sound hypocritical, but as an athlete with EDS, part of me still felt insecure once I started to post more about my experiences. I still find myself retreating back into my younger self who feels like admitting what I go through makes me viewed as weak or self-pitying. So despite everything I just said about my newfound confidence, I still wonder: does posting about my struggles make me look like I feel sorry for myself? Because that is absolutely NOT the goal. And I know deep down that I could not be further from weak. And I am so sorry if you thought I might have an answer to this conflict but I don’t. But as a music fanatic, I did have a thought that comforted me. I thought about how music artists who write and sing about depression and other mental health struggles might be seen as being “woe is me” for being open about the battles they fight. Taylor Swift, the queen of breakup songs (and so much more but that’s not the point), uses her voice to express her heartbreak through music. And though some may see these artists as self-pitying or just outright negative, they are truly doing God’s work for the people who relate. At the end of the day, having someone to relate to can be a game-changer, a life-saver, or simply just a sense of comfort that you are not alone. And that is my goal here. On this blog, social media, and in the world in general.

    Okay, I need to go to sleep. Time to dream of a world where zebras don’t ever feel like they have to paint over their stripes!