It’s almost time.
She’s been fading, fading, for months; I wasn’t sure she’d make it this long. But we are nearing the end.
I see her hunched-up walk and my breath catches in my throat. I scoop her up and hold her against my chest and tuck my chin into her fur and whisper No, not yet! I’m not ready.
And I set her back down and she walks fine and it’s clear that she’s not ready yet, either.
But it’s coming, and when she’s ready I’ll have to be, too.
Even if I’m not.
My beautiful Bean. . . !
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I send you many warm thoughts — a wish for a quiet, peaceful passing for Bean, and courage for you even as you face that which you don’t want to face. To have lived with you and known your love is the best gift Bean could have ever known. I’m grateful that she had you in her life, and wish you both peace in these days.
I second that. It’s so hard, this soon after Chelsea. It’s not fair. But there it is. I hope her fluffiness can hold on, and that Jasper can hold enough of that universal cat energy. To love a cat, or three, and be loved in their way – is there anything higher?
I’m trying not to mourn preemptively, and goddess knows I’m not exactly feeling grateful right now. But thank you for the thoughts.
I did get another cat after Chelsea died in part because I knew that had I come home to an empty apartment after Bean died, I might have found it easier to have gone cat-free.
Easier isn’t better, tho’.
So in the meantime, I hang on while I can, and remember that I’ll have to do that last good thing for her when she’s ready to let go.
Pre-emptive grieving isn’t at all a bad thing, as long as you don’t get morbid about it. It might comfort you to know that you appreciated her, and let her know that as best you could, while she was still alive. Pain spread out over time is easier to bear. People who’ve nursed loved ones through terminal illnesses have said the same, at times.
I wish I had some sage advice for you but, alas, I don’t.
It sounds like that’s one lucky cat, in many ways. After all, she’s loved and cared for, and we should all be lucky enough to be that in the end.
As for grieving, I don’t know. I look at my Grandmother’s slow fade into dementia, and I find I have already grieved, as the woman I knew has faded away. I suppose every situation is unique and must be handled as such, but I think there’s one universal truth: whatever you feel now doesn’t hold a candle to the years of joy their company gave you.