One year. A post written by Stray Cat's mom. Stivali will return to her blog writing in February.
Why do we recognize sad anniversaries? Is it just in our
nature to know?
Every 26th day of each of the past 11 months, I was
very aware that it was indeed the 26th – and as the clock ticked to
4:45 on each Friday afternoon after the 4:45 of Friday, January 26th that Stray
Cat dramatically died – I knew. I calculated, “one week”, “two weeks”, “three
weeks” – it is painful yet inherent. I could not even help it, I did not want
to recognize it, I did not want to acknowledge it, but just like how my mental
alarm clock wakes me up at 5:15 every morning, regardless of me having to get
up to go to work on that particular day, my brain, my heart, my body, my soul…
knew.
Why do we recognize sad anniversaries? Do we even have a
choice?
I made no plans on this one year marker. Anyone who asked me to do something today I declined. I did not tell them why. I just declined. Made plans for Friday the 25th, made plans for Sunday the 27th. But Saturday. Saturday, January 26, 2019. No. No plans. No thank you. Because I had no idea how I would feel when I woke up. Knowing. Knowing one year passed.
I made no plans on this one year marker. Anyone who asked me to do something today I declined. I did not tell them why. I just declined. Made plans for Friday the 25th, made plans for Sunday the 27th. But Saturday. Saturday, January 26, 2019. No. No plans. No thank you. Because I had no idea how I would feel when I woke up. Knowing. Knowing one year passed.
I do not feel any crappier or any less crappy than I have
felt every single day since 4:45pm Friday, January 26, 2018. The day I took my
beautiful Maine Coon for a routine chest-tap – a chest-tap that is routine for
cats with Congestive Heart Failure. A procedure he had a few months prior and
came out like a champ. The day marks the day I took my cat to the doctor to
feel better. Not to die.
Yet, that is what happened that day.
Am I in a depression? Maybe, maybe not – because I push through. I get up and get out of bed every day when I rather pull the covers up over my head. And stay there. All day long.
Yet, that is what happened that day.
Am I in a depression? Maybe, maybe not – because I push through. I get up and get out of bed every day when I rather pull the covers up over my head. And stay there. All day long.
I get up, I do yoga. I meditate. I get ready for work.
I go to work and function like a living self-sufficient human. I exercise after
work. I cook. I eat. I see my friends. I visit family. I go back to bed. And I
sleep (most nights).
So, I think that is something to celebrate: I am pushing
through.
In every day that has passed since my beautiful cat
tragically died, I have been trying to focus on rejoicing about his life, and I
have tried (most of the times, failing) to not focus on how shocking and
heartbreaking it was to witness his death.
I guess it is all part of the grieving process. You push
through. People say, “It’ll get better.” But I know that is a lie. I have pushed
through before after losing a loved one, and it never ever got better. It just altered
my world.
Life becomes different, and we figure out how to live with
the difference – it is never ever better. Just different.
 |
| No, Google Photos, we did not need a reminder. 😩 Photo in left corner of his fuzzy paws was taken after he took his last breath. |
I am grateful for the 10 years, 09 months, and 02 days we had.
Today, I will focus on those facts.
Thank You, Lord, for surrounding me with Your goodness and mercy even today as I grieve. - Psalm 23:6
