Flowers Within the Fog — Part Two

06/24/2026

Ileft the clinic carrying more than a cat carrier.

Somewhere between Tanya's stories, seeing old schoolmates, learning that Lily would need her own space until her testing came back, and realizing that she wasn't chipped and didn't belong to anyone else, I had quietly crossed a line. I wasn't helping a lost cat anymore. I was keeping one.

I also left the clinic with a little more information about Lily than I had when I arrived. The vet tech estimated her age at around eight months old, which was right around where I had guessed. Apparently I'm getting pretty good at estimating cat ages. Her story is just beginning.

The clinic also reinforced something I already knew was coming. Until her testing and vaccinations are complete, she and Monkey need to remain separated. It's the responsible thing to do. For now, Monkey has his space, Lily has hers, and I'm doing my best to keep both cats happy while figuring out what life looks like with a new addition to the family.

It's funny how quickly circumstances change. It was just a day ago, Lily was simply a cat I happened to find. Now I'm buying supplies, setting up living arrangements, scheduling appointments, and making plans around her future. Somewhere along the way, without any official decision ever being made, she stopped being a cat I was helping and quietly became my cat.

After leaving the clinic, I headed to Dollar Tree.

I've always bought my litter boxes there because they're cheap. Monkey's setup has always been a little different than what most people imagine. His litter box sits out in his catio, and I use the shallow plastic litter boxes from Dollar Tree as disposable boxes. I load them up with litter, let him do his thing for about a week, then dispose of the entire box and replace it with a new one. It's simple, inexpensive, and it works.

Normally I buy four a month and keep a couple of extras around just in case. The problem was that I no longer had one cat. I now had two cats living under the same roof, even if they were occupying different rooms for the time being. That meant I suddenly needed more litter boxes than usual.

I ended up buying eight.

My father had already picked up a large bag of litter and some cat food for the outdoor cats, which Lily is currently helping consume as well. While I was there, I grabbed a few snacks for myself, some for my father, and went looking for a pooper scooper. The Dollar Tree didn't have a single one.

Fortunately, when I got home later that evening, I found one I already had for Monkey. In the end, that worked out better anyway because my plan now is to sift Lily's litter box and conserve litter rather than disposing of the entire box each week like I do with Monkey's setup.

With the Dollar Tree stop out of the way, I pointed my vehicle toward Corpus Christi.

I knew the chiropractic clinic closed at 7:00 p.m., and I was already cutting it close. I also wanted to see if I could make it to El Gavilan Pollero before they closed for the evening.

When I got into Corpus, I made the mistake of checking on the food first.

El Gavilan Pollero was closed.

Maybe they sold out.

Maybe they closed early.

Maybe I just don't know their Sunday hours.

Whatever the reason, I wasn't getting my chicken.

Unfortunately, that little detour cost me. By the time I looked at the clock again, it was obvious I wasn't going to make it to the chiropractor either. They were only minutes away from closing, and by the time I got across town and walked through the door, it would have been too late.

Two goals.

Two misses.

Instead of chasing closed doors, I ended up at H-E-B.

There, I began gathering ingredients for what turned into an Asian-Greek dinner. My cart slowly filled with basmati rice, green curry, chicken, vegetables for the curry, ingredients for fresh tzatziki sauce, chicken tikka masala samosas, and naan bread.

Well, that was the plan.

It wasn't until I left H-E-B that I realized I had forgotten the naan bread.

That realization led to an additional stop at Walmart. While I was there, I picked up the naan bread and a couple of pizzas as well.

Then a random encounter occurred.

The conversation started because of my Metallica shirt.

A woman noticed it and immediately commented that it was unique. Not just because it was Metallica, but because it wasn't one of the common shirts everyone wears. It wasn't based on a famous album cover or one of the designs you constantly see. That caught my attention because I had thought the exact same thing when I bought it. She clearly knew her Metallica.

She asked me where I got it.

I told her the truth.

I had no idea.

If I see something cool, I buy it.

The infamous Metallica tee shirt that keeps coming up.

That was the extent of the conversation at first. Then things took an unexpected turn.

She told me she was often drawn to people who were grieving, mourning, or carrying some sort of loss. She said she could sense an energy about me that suggested I was going through something difficult.

She then asked me who I had lost.

I told her about my mother.

From there, the conversation moved into territory I wasn't expecting.

She asked me to keep an open mind before she continued. That wasn't difficult. Whether I agree with someone or not, I'm generally interested in hearing what they have to say. I enjoy learning. I enjoy understanding how other people think. Some of the most interesting conversations begin where certainty ends.

She told me she believed my mother wanted her to cross paths with me.

According to her, my mother was fine.

When she mentioned the in-between, I stopped her right there.

For the last few weeks, I've been thinking about that exact concept. I'd even considered writing both a song and a blog entry centered around it. The phrase had already been occupying space in my mind long before this conversation ever began.

The more we talked, the stranger things became.

At one point she mentioned smoking.

Then cigars.

Both subjects landed surprisingly close to home considering my recent struggles, relapse, and attempts to get myself back on track.

Maybe it was coincidence.

Maybe it wasn't.

I honestly don't know.

One thing she said particularly stood out.

That stopped me for a moment, not because I had told her I was suicidal or suggested self-harm—I hadn't done either of those things—but because she had somehow landed directly on a subject that had occupied a tremendous amount of space in my thoughts over the past several months.

She told me that my mother wanted me to keep going. She told me that I needed to make it to the next phase naturally. She specifically mentioned not giving up and not harming myself.

I don't know how.

Maybe it was intuition.

Maybe it was coincidence.

Maybe it was something else entirely.

What I do know is that the statement caught me off guard.

According to her, this life is only one phase of a much larger journey. She described what comes next as a kind of soul school, a transitional period, the in-between. I shared some of my own thoughts about Christian beliefs regarding death, resurrection, judgment, and what some describe as a dormant period before what comes next. She listened and offered her own perspective.

I don't personally subscribe to all of her beliefs, but I found the conversation fascinating nonetheless. I’m open to them. 

Before we parted ways, she encouraged me to research the concept further.

I told her I would.

Whether the conversation was coincidence, intuition, something spiritual, or something else entirely, I honestly can't say. What I can say is that it was memorable, and it left me with questions.

Lots of questions.

She isn't even the first person I've met who claims some sort of connection to these kinds of things.

Whatever the explanation, I left Walmart with more than groceries. I left with another question to explore: the in-between.

By the time dinner was finished, everything came together exactly the way I'd hoped. The meal turned out great, and for a brief moment life felt surprisingly normal.

While over dinner, I discussed the encounter with someone close to me.

The more I talked about it, the more surreal the entire day began to feel. Everything seemed connected. The counseling session. The conversation at Walmart. The ideas surrounding the in-between. The grief. The fog.

Nothing felt entirely real.

It felt almost like a simulation.

Like I was moving through a virtual reality version of my own life.

That feeling isn't new.

I actually mentioned something similar during counseling earlier that day. As I walked toward my counselor's office, I couldn't remember which door was hers despite having been there multiple times already. I told her everything always felt surreal when I walked down that hallway.

She laughed and compared it to The Shining.

I compared it to The Matrix.

Somewhere between those two references is probably the best description I can give for where I've been mentally these past several months.

Nothing feels entirely real.

Everything feels slightly disconnected.

Slightly blurry.

Slightly foggy.

And yet, despite all of that, things continue to happen.

During this same foggy period, I began taking steps to turn The Assignment into something real. What started as an idea and a story living inside my head has gradually become a legitimate project, a genuine mission, and a meaningful way to honor my mother.

With the help of old friends and new friends, that mission continues to grow.

Mr. Mac has offered to help. He has spoken with others who may be interested in helping acquire flower donations and assisting the mission moving forward. Another friend I recently met through the music industry has also expressed interest in helping.

Somehow this thing keeps growing.

What started as an idea now has a website, a growing collection of stories, and a mission behind it. It is no longer just something I think about. It is becoming something tangible.

The website can be found at theassignment.care.

For anyone interested in the full story, you can find it there, or you can trace its origins through Life Is a Storm beginning with Flowers for the Living, Flowers for the Dead and the entries that followed.

The Assignment was born during this fog.

So was Lily.

Lily is named after a flower. The Assignment is built around flowers. One unexpectedly entered my home while the other unexpectedly entered my life, and both arrived during the same season following my mother's passing.

The more I think about it, the harder it becomes to ignore the connection.

Maybe that's why the title of this entry feels appropriate.

Flowers Within the Fog.

Because when I look around, that's what I keep seeing.

Not answers.

Not clarity.

Not the end of grief.

Just flowers.

Small reminders that something is still growing.

Small reminders that life continues moving forward.

Small reminders that even in the middle of loss, something beautiful can still appear.

A cat named Lily.

A mission called The Assignment.

And a mother whose influence continues to bloom long after she's gone.

The fog hasn't lifted yet.

But the flowers are there.