Giving Sorrow Words
Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o’er-fraught heart, and bids it break. — Shakespeare, Macbeth1
I’ve been sitting at the keyboard for a while, debating with myself whether or not I should attempt a blog post about grief. Even though I tell myself that I write blog posts for myself alone, I know there are Readers Out There who come here to be entertained or to check out the knitting or to look at LOLCats and really don’t care to hear about the sad, icky emotional stuff.
Well, today’s post isn’t for them. I suggest to those of you who don’t want to wade through this to just go to the link in first footnote and watch the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppets do Macbeth. I need to go watch those sock puppets again myself, to be honest. I could use a laugh.
There is no logic in my grieving for Gregor. There is no doubt in my mind that it was his time to go. He wasn’t eating. He wasn’t drinking hardly any water. He was getting to be a little bag of bones; he was too weak to leap on counters. There wasn’t any “cure” for him. I could have said yes to 20+ weeks of chemotherapy to buy 6 to 9 more months with him (maybe), but that wasn’t the right answer. I know that. The logical and best thing to do was to let him go. It was definitely his time.
It hurts like hell.
Gregor was my Special One. Out of my three cats, he was the one who followed me around constantly, the one who had to sit on my lap while I was on the computer. The one who came into the bathroom with me every morning when I was getting ready for work. The one who had to come curl up next to me when I was knitting on the couch or reading in bed before I would go to sleep. At night, I would lie on my side and he would settle in next to me, filling up the hollow space under my chin, letting me hold him like a teddy bear as I fell asleep. He was Mama’s Boy, my Good Big Cat, Mr. Squeakypants, Mister G.
I miss him. I just miss him, and there’s this irrational part inside of me screaming GIVE ME BACK MY CAT to the universe even though I know that there isn’t any giving back involved in any of this.
I know time will help with the sorrow. I know I did the right thing.
I just want my cat back.
I’m going to stop here and go watch those Sock Puppets, I think. I’m not at the point where I can articulate grief, merely let it roll through me.
* * * * *- Now, despite all of what follows in this blog post, I have a wild urge to put in a link to the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppets version of Macbeth. If you have any love of the theater or Shakespeare, do yourself a favor and go watch it. [↩]
December 11th, 2007 at 4:31 am
Grief is very very natural for your special one. Don’t fight it. If anyone tells you to “just get over it, it’s only a cat”- they deserve to be beaten severely, and then told to “get over it, it’s only flesh wound.” I still miss my Colin. We used to sleep cheek to cheek on the couch when I had my naps as one example of my favorite boy cat.
I’m sorry for my slightly rude post earlier. My Kenya Dog is the first gift Jakys ever gave me that I really appreciated. And she was just diagnosed with bladder cancer. She’s on a new medication that is helping a great deal, so we’re going to let her continue as long as she seems comfortable. But I would never ever wish this on another person and I don’t like seeing my friends in pain. It’s enough for me to go through it. I wish no one else ever had to. I’m still sorry about your Gregor.
December 12th, 2007 at 11:32 am
Oh, man… Gregor sounds like such a sweetie… If you were not feeling the “irrational grief” in a big way right now, I would worry about you.
December 12th, 2007 at 5:41 pm
Oh, I am so sorry to read about Gregor. No wonder you’re devastated. I lost my special boy this summer and, I hate to say it, but I still cry when I think about him.
Don’t settle for the pittance of comfort offered by the knowledge that there was nothing you could do to fix the situation, or that you did the right thing (though both, obviously, are true). Go ahead and feel sorry for yourself. You’ve suffered a loss.
I wish I had more poignant or wise things to say. But it’s too emotional a topic to think about anything other than I’m sorry about Gregor, and you’ll be in my thoughts. Cry a lot. Expect to see ghosts. And stay as strong as you can.
December 13th, 2007 at 11:53 am
I think that sharing this hurt like you are, anonymously to the world, actually helps in different ways. Helps you maybe to move toward acceptance and helps others. When others read your words and feel the hurt, compassion and empathy can result. And it is a good thing to feel empathy and compassion. If sharing feelings, like did here, can cultivate those compassion and empathy in others (like me), people are more human. My cats are great and I will miss them terribly when they’re gone. I know this day will come and thinking about it makes me appreciate the “now” all the more. Thanks for sharing.
December 18th, 2007 at 12:20 am
This is my first visit to the site. Found it on Ravelry and checked it out b/c you, too, are a Michigan knitter. This post really touched my heart. We went through the same thing, including the symptomatology and options with our dog right before Thanksgiving. We made the same choice and even though you know it’s the best thing for them, it hurts like hell.
I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for your loss and for the pain that I know you’re feeling. No lame encouragement about how “it gets better” blah, blah, blah. Bullshit!! Just pure sympathy and a little empathy as well. Gregor sounds like he was a wonderful cat and that he was well loved and returned that love. Again, so sorry for your loss.