Grief

It has been six months since Cat's death, and I have been doing a lot of reflecting.

Losing Cat has not been at all what I expected.  She was my first bonded relationship with an animal.  We had had family pets that had died, but I wasn't particularly attached to any of them.  Also, I have been blessed to have not lost many people in my family, not even attending a funeral until I was a junior in college.

Obviously, when she passed away, my heart was broken.  I spent the first few weeks filled with sadness and disbelief that she was gone and was not coming back.  I felt guilty that I hadn't taken better care of her, that I hadn't taken her to the vet more often, that I had fallen asleep that afternoon....a million "what ifs" were running through my head of ways that I could have been able to save her.

I felt irrational anger due to when she died.  When Cat was diagnosed with diabetes, I had prayed that she at least make it to her "Gotcha Day."  That would have given us 10 years together.  She died one month short of that day, and I felt very cheated that I didn't get that extra month.  Would it have been any easier then?  Absolutely not, but I wanted her to still be there.

Then my grief received an abrupt interruption with my sickness.  And to be honest, when I became aware of what was going on, there was a part of me that was a little relieved that she wasn't there.  With being in the hospital for 3 months, I would have been constantly worried about her.  It would have been difficult to find someone to manage her care, especially with her being on injections twice a day.  That topped off with the "diva" qualities and need for Arby's would have been a lot to expect someone to take care of.

Now that I am home, I find that things have switched again.  I hear her in the house.  I feel her eyes on me.  I sense her presence - and then I remember she is gone.  And I get angry.  I am so mad at her for leaving.  She left me alone when I need her the most.

The last 18 months of her life I was little more than a nurse because she had so many needs.  My life revolved around her extra care.  And I was happy to do it because I loved her.  Now, when I am recovering and could really use her just to be here, she is gone.  

I would give anything to see those little eyes watching me.  To see that little tail curl and start to wag when I look at her.  To see her creep across the floor when I am eating something, knowing that she will convince me to share a bite.

But she is gone.  I am left with memories, her ashes, and a pug shaped hole in my heart.