Hard to believe, but this my 500th post.
The last few weeks have been very hard. Things still are. I cry every day.
EVERY day. This seems to be getting worse, not better, as I continue through firsts-
first time home to catless house,
first time to the supermarket without going into the pet aisle,
first storm without him there, looking out, watching,
first time hanging out the washing without him coming to 'help' by sitting on my feet,
first time cutting the grass, without worrying about where he was, hiding from the noise machine,
first time vacuuming the living room, knowing that I was removing his hair, never to be replaced,
first time we took a day trip out, out for more than a couple of hours, as we didn't have to have someone stay in with him always any more.....
-firsts are a killer.
Another automatic stabbing machine is the instinct:
the instinct to look at the window as I turn into the street, to see if he is there waiting,
the instinct to want to call out 'hello? I'm back!' as I come in the door,
the instinct to think 'I'll just check on him before I go' before going out,
the instinct to look up when a tv ad mentions 'new' about cat food.....
automatic thoughts, that override the knowledge that he's gone- instincts that show how much our world was built around him.... now built around an empty space.
The crying gets worse, as it sinks and sinks and comes up from a deeper and deeper place.
I have never mourned as deeply for anyone, certainly no human.
He was my last connection to the rest of his family; he had his mama-cat's big yellow eyes. He grew big, like his sisters and brothers grew big. His black fur was soft, warm, and glistened in the sun, like theirs all did. It's like I have lost them all, all over again, and all the grief for all that loss has come to the surface in a great wave.
Sometimes I have honestly thought, I would rather be dead, at least then I would know for sure if he were still there. Then I tell myself that Luvbug would cry, and mum would get worse, and I haul myself back to the land of the living.
*But really, if I could be excused, I would rather not be here at all. I just know that I can't be excused.*
My arms ache sometimes,
they actually physically ache, as though they independently long for him.
I have ordered this print from Etsy seller
watercolourqueen-
 |
| This is how I would hold him when he was coming out of a seizure, or when the hypo-attack threw him into twitches and jerks that scared him so, sometimes with temporary blindness~ I would hold him gently, no hard restraint. He'd hold on and tuck his head under my chin. I knew he was calming down when the breathing slowed and the purrs came, I knew he'd come out of it completely when he wanted to get down. |
I've tried to understand with logic why this is so hard and I wonder if it is this-
~that I can't let go of the pain because it is my link with his last day here. If I go a day without the pain and tears, then the link is broken. No amount of saying 'he would not want this' alters that. It's like I would rather have the pain than more distance from him.
I am now tucked up in bed. I had an early night yesterday too. I think a recent bad throat is becoming a cold :( and I haven't been sleeping properly for months, so there are hours to catch up.
I don't know whether to continue this blog, or to open a new one for some arty stuff later on, and leave this one here..... I don't know.
Take care, all, and please take care of your animal friends.
H
