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.
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