On Sunday, after some online research, I determined that Pat — the toad that has been living in my garbage bin for nearly a month — was female. She was large with marbled coloring, unlike male toads which are smaller and typically just one pale color. Further, Pat appeared to change color, unlike male toads:
PAT ON TUESDAY MORNING, AUGUST 27
PAT ON SUNDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 16
I was thrilled to know Pat’s gender, and she seemed to relax now that I truly knew what she was. Later that day, for the first time, I caught a glimpse of her in her water pool.
Early Monday morning, however, when I stepped outside to retrieve the daily paper, I spied this just outside the doors to the garbage bin.
Apparently, in addition to being female, Pat was also a lady of the night. I made no judgements and about an hour later, discovered her back in the bin (upper right).
Then in the wee hours of yesterday morning, the vestiges of Hurricane/Tropical Storm Florence swept through the area. At dawn, I checked on Pat and she was gone. At the time of this writing, she is still gone. It’s the longest she’s been away. According to experts, during severe weather toads take to higher ground. Maybe that’s where Pat is. I hope she’s safe because I’ll be heartbroken if she croaked.
NO PAT ON TUESDAY MORNING OR AFTERNOON, SEPTEMBER 18
5:54 a.m.: NO PAT
Oh, Sharie, I love your posts about Pat. I’m sad, though, that she has been gone so long. I got a big smile on my face when I saw the pic of her in her water pool. What an attentive, loving mother you’ve been to Pat. Please keep us all posted as to Pat’s whereabouts. xoxo
7:19 a.m.: NO PAT
This comment is somewhat in reply to the comment Merrie Lee posted around 6:30.
I never saw Pat as a child, but rather as a housemate. I’ve shared with several beloveds how seldom I hear my voice during the day now that Adrienne has a full-time job outside of her home. Most days, the only time I hear my voice is when I drop Adrienne off at the Metro: “Have a good day,” and when I pick her up ten hours later, “How was your day?” I may greet a dog or that dog’s owner during my daily walk, but there is seldom a conversation. Only solicitors call my home, and I don’t answer if I don’t recognize the number.
As odd as this sounds, I talked to Pat. I felt less alone during the day when I opened the bin doors and saw her. Her disappearance is sad for me. The last line of this post that included the pun on the verb “croak,” was a way for me to push back my sadness.
Humor covers a multitude of regrets.
For the past few days, my regrets have overwhelmed me. It’s hard to know whether serious depression fuels regrets or if regrets fuel serious depression, but last weekend, my Disabled Brain got on the Depression Train and is on its way to Despair. I attribute this to a confluence of events:
— My continued and debilitating lack of paid work
— The reality that while I am a good writer, I am not an exceptional one
— The reality that I will never have children or grandchildren
— The likelihood that I will probably die — surrounded by beloveds, of course, for which I am thankful — while having lived alone, ALONE, in this house (it’s going on 29 years now)
— The truth that I will always bear the burden of serious depression which fuels all of the previous regrets and extinguishes any small spark of “getting myself out there,” you know, volunteering, mentoring, restocking shelves at Target.
And now, Pat is a gone girl. Maybe I am, too. It’s humiliating to take in that the disappearance of a toad is the last fuel stop on my Depression Train. But she is.
All this being said, I know enough about living with depression to know that the Despair Destination has, so far, not been permanent. It never has been life-threatening and usually fades from my head. I’ll journey back to a place of stability and perhaps even happiness. But I also know that this momentary “clarity” is insidious — it keeps me alive, yes, but it also throws light on my weaknesses, my mistakes, my sins, my regrets. It’s just a matter of time before I hear the far-off whistle of the Depression Train.
Forgive the rawness of this comment, but I feel safe posting it. Not many will read it, but I know readers who love me will read it and will continue to remain by my side as I continue to survive my challenging journey.
Oh, one more thing: my mother died on January 6 and had no obituary, no funeral, no memorial service. That this reality just occurred to me after all the time I spent writing my previous comment is depressing as hell.
So, sorry for your despair and for the loss of your outdoor friend. What do toads do in winter? Bury themselves in mud? Hibernate? Somehow, I would rather you find her gone than dead, but get it that both are sad in their own way. I hear the catties protestations at your saying you live “alone,” but I get what you mean. Sorry too that my recent joy in grand parenthood may have contributed to your sadness. I’m here, reading and listening, hoping to discern if there is more I can do for you.
You are brave to comment, Beth. Folks tend to ignore depressed people or look for reasons why they can’t stop feeling sorry for themselves.
This fucking depression thing is getting old, isn’t it? Like playing the same note on the piano over and over and over and over and over and over again. I know you will understand this — not many will — but I didn’t stay in bed today and I walked six miles. Plus, I’m getting ready to take a shower, so how depressed can I be?
Scout is on my lap, by the way.
When I got back from my walk at 10:14: NO PAT
I plan to google the winter/hibernation habits of toads in a bit.
Just researched the hibernation habits of toads. First, the air temperature has to get a lot colder. Second, and in the category of “I-can’t-make-up-this-shit,” they survive by digging themselves into a hole.
Oh my Friend, that old demon of depression chugging through your life with a renewed vengeance. Sometimes it doesn’t take much–the disappearance of a tiny toad can take on giant proportions and cast giant shadows. So sorry. To quote a dear friend of mine, “I spit on your illness!” But I also celebrate your getting out of bed this morning, your walk of 6 miles, your ability to write so honestly and powerfully of the turmoil within.
Your pictures and comments on Pat are priceless. I hope, if she’s found a lover toad, that he will soon either let her go or return to her abode with her. Wouldn’t that be fun!
Sorry for the delay in replying to your loving comment, Carol. My friend, Jan, has been here this afternoon and has been just the company I needed.
Alas, still NO PAT. It would indeed be fun if she’s hooked up with a companion. I’ll keep you posted. xoxo
7:32 p.m.: NO PAT