Yesterday

Yesterday was a hard day.  I almost typed 'bad' day, but I don't want to refer to days where my grief for our daughter overwhelming as 'bad.'  Hard, yes, but grief is not bad.  It's hard, but it's not bad.

Last year we also lost our beautiful cat Precious.  She was amazing and we had looked forward to Precious and Ramona becoming friends but Precious was a senior cat and we had to make the hard decision in September to say good-bye.  We planned on adopting another cat when Ramona turned about 6 months old.  I wanted her to grow up with an animal companion and I believe pets teach compassion.  None of that was meant to be, so Friday we visited the local animal shelter and adopted a one year old cat we named Chet Lemon.

Chet is wonderful.  He is just what we need to help heal, he is affectionate and smart and it's wonderful having more life in our home.  The only problem is I looked at him yesterday and felt such extreme anguish because he should not be here.

I should be cuddling on the couch with Ramona, not Chet.  I should be feeding Ramona, not Chet.  I should be playing with Ramona, not Chet.  I should be waking in the middle of the night checking on Ramona, not Chet.  I love him already, but yesterday all my shock and grief and pain collided and I lost it.

I played some sad bastard music and cried and screamed.  Chet just watched and when I was done he jumped back on the couch with me.  He sat in the bathroom with me while I showered.  He laid on the bed while I got dressed.  This cat we'd only known for two days comforted me and watched over me.

I don't really believe things happen for a reason.  I don't believe our daughter died so we could make room for a cat who needed a home, but after I released that pain I felt grateful for Chet and happy we made room for him in our home and hearts.  Some days I imagine Ramona and Precious somewhere together, playing and cuddling, two destined friends.  I'm slowly starting to imagine Chet and another child, a similar scene but different players.  It gives me hope.