cw: pet death
On Sunday afternoon, our beloved Callie crossed the rainbow bridge.
We knew it was her time. We were not surprised, but the softness with which we held her for the past several weeks was the gift we could give her. My two adult kids who are here sat deathwatch with her, sitting and laying on the floor near her, so that she would not be alone. I was out of the house but I had put one of my lightweight shirts over her as a blanket because she was getting colder as the time waned, and I wanted her to be able to have me with her in some way.
A few times over the past couple of weeks we thought she was slipping away for the final time, but she would rally again and every morning when we woke up it was a gift to see her still there, still breathing, still asking for careful pets and for the vitamin-enriched treats we got especially for her. We loved her so much. We tried to love her extra for the family members that couldn’t be here with her physically. We cried and talked to her softly and each of us told her, more than once, that it was okay whenever she needed to go, that we would miss her but we would be okay. We told her she could go see her sister and mom again.
I left the room a lot to go sob over the sink from time to time, because I didn’t want to be the adult that was crumbing, but I didn’t hide my tears from anyone. Allowing sadness to briefly drag us underwater is necessary, because without that experience we can’t have the sensation of the life-water of grief lifting us back up so that we can breathe again.
I trained as a death doula and I have found a deep meaning in giving a good death to anyone who is actively dying. For Callie, we talked about it and we believed that meant giving her comfortable space to rest, access to clean water and food and the litter box, treats to help her with nutrition, careful fusses when she wanted them, and not to be left alone. We gave her a good death. We did our best.
This week we will be able to have her cremated and, hopefully, we will have a footprint card and an urn to keep with us. She will always be part of who we are.
One of her favorite places to sit was the counter-top, which normally nobody is allowed to do, but it was easier for her to manage a lot of things from that vantage point. I would sometimes crouch down below her so that I could look up at her face and talk to her, and in one of the moments I had with her like that, I had the energetic and visual sense that she was slowly dissolving into the brightness of the Light. It was a brief but wholly sacred moment and I will cherish the mystery of that moment.
On Sundays every week, those of us at the Thailand house participate in the regular village practice of giving an offering of red Fanta at the village shrine, which is just down the end of our street. My eldest wanted to give the offering on that day, and wanted me to go with, so we walked down in the heat and humidity of the early dark to the illuminated, ornate shrine. I stood nearby so that Vincent could be fully immersed in paying our respect to the spirits and gods of the land here, and as soon as it walked up to place the open can on the shrine base, a medium-sized white short-haired cat suddenly stood up and almost hurried away. We both slowed down our movements and the cat stayed, and I asked permission to take a photo of the cat that was not strictly speaking A Cat.
The Mysteries can’t be explained, only experienced in order to be known. I think I’m learning that even experiencing a Mystery does not mean it can be fully comprehended. The only thing we have is what we noticed, what was revealed, and how much we can remember and map into our own hearts so that we can keep it with us.
Even the smallest of our cats, the youngest, the one who was a stray, the one whose eyesight was poor because she was sick early in her life, the one that lost her mother and litter mate and other family members — she was precious and her life had meaning beyond what I can comprehend.
I am grateful for the way she showed up with us. For her utter naivety, her enthusiasm, her happy purrs, the way she drooled when the fusses were Just Right. For how much she fought to stay for just a while longer. For the love she accepted from us.
I am deep in my feelings this afternoon and even though I have errands to run still today, I will hold this feeling warmly in my heart because it is part of the mystery for me. I cherish the grief because it tells me that I loved intensely and wholeheartedly enough to feel the loss of who I loved.
xox,
Nix
epilogue:
flowers in my hair makes me wish that you were here
when my mind goes away, oh, I hope that you’ll be near me
flowers in my hair makes me wish that you were here
when my eyes go away, why my time goes
maybe one day
I’ll end up in a place
where I’m not afraid
and the sun never sleeps
no sad goodbyes,
and no fights,
and no crying
we’ll sleep in the arms
of an orange breeze
and I hope to see you
just out of my side view
and just maybe then we can be,
my pretty
flowers in my hair makes me wish that you were here
when my mind goes away, oh, I hope that you’ll be near me
flowers in my hair makes me wish that you were here
when my eyes go away, when my time goes
— lyrics from Flowers in My Hair by Wes Reeve
featured image is a photo by Maxime VALCARCE on Unsplash
