Saying Goodbye

Living with grief means living in two worlds. The one where I go about my day taking care of life while inside, an emotional storm is raging. Each death that I experience only compounds the grief that I’m living with. Bella’s impending death brought up the connection with Mike, who brought her home from the shelter.

Last Saturday, I made the difficult decision to take my nineteen-year-old cat to the vet to provide her with a compassionate death. I hate euphemisms related to death, including “putting my cat to sleep.” She’s not going to wake up. She was suffering from arthritis, and the medical intervention was not helping. Since she was still eating and drinking, I decided to wait a week so that I could get through my work week, knowing that I would be shattered when she died.

The clock began ticking once I made the decision. I spent the week going to the store, physical therapy, and tutoring. However, I felt like I was wearing a backpack of rocks weighing me down. How could I keep putting one foot before the other when my heart ached, and the tears were ready to fall? When my students would come to be tutored, I’d put on my happy face, able to do my job that was second nature. It was all exhausting. When I had my last student on Thursday, I could finally let down and just feel my emotions.

Friday was a tough day, knowing that I had one more day with Bella. She would come lay near my feet all week, and I would rub her head. Walking and sitting were becoming more challenging, and she would end up lying down while she would wait for the remnants of whatever food I ate. I also gave her extra chicken while making my dinner, anything to make the end of her life a little more comfortable. That night, I had to fix the plumbing on two sinks, which was not an easy task, given that I could only get up and down on my right knee as the left knee was still recovering from surgery.

I had a horrible night’s sleep, knowing what awaited me at 9 a.m. With my parents, I knew their death was coming, but not when it would happen. The anticipatory grief was painful as I watched them slowly decline. Mike’s death was sudden, and nothing ever prepares you for that. I had a panic attack as I lay in bed, which never happened when I tried to sleep. I put a yoga Nidra recording on to help settle me down. When I slept, I had nightmares. When morning finally came, I was exhausted, physically and emotionally.

I put Bella in her carrier one last time. She didn’t even resist, though she was meowing loudly. I cried along with her as we made the short drive to the vet. Everyone at Beardsly Animal Hospital was so kind and compassionate, allowing me all the time I needed to be with her before and after they gave her the medicine that would stop her heart beating. What a hard job to be with pet owners at their most vulnerable. After they put in the catheter, I thought I’d just sit with her briefly, but saying goodbye is never easy. I was grateful I could be with my sweet girl one last time.

The rest of the day was spent crying and talking to my daughter and friends. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have such supportive people in my life. There were constant reminders of Bella. I would look at the couch across from me, expecting to see her, setting off another wave of grief as her spot was empty. She was so woven into every aspect of my life that I know it will take time to heal. Just because I understand so much about grief from my experiences with Mike, Mom, and Dad doesn’t make it any easier. I wish it did, but death and suffering will always be painful.

The one thing that  I do know is that I have to feel my feelings and walk through the pain until the grief softens.