“The dark does not destroy the light; it defines it. It’s our fear of the dark that casts our joy into the shadows.” – Dr. Brené Brown
The past month has been difficult for me, and I just couldn’t write about it before now. At the beginning of March, my 18-year-old cat Sabrina was euthanized. She had been with me basically all my adult life. I got her when she was 6 weeks old during my senior year of college. I saw her the day she was born, as my college boyfriend’s cat was her mom. Of the litter, Sabrina picked me, coming to sit on my lap and claiming me as hers.
She was my “little love,” and was with me through some of the most difficult transitions in my life: divorces, break-ups, cross-town and cross-country moves. She was my constant, my steady companion, providing me with so much love and affection.
I’ve struggled with my grief, wanting it to be over already. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of feeling sad and expecting to see her when I come home. I’m tired of missing her, tired of feeling the ache and emptiness in my heart when I think how she’s not here to sit beside me. Tired of not being able to sleep because her absence is still so acute.
I’ve tried to rationalize with myself. I know she had a really long life, and I am grateful for it. I know the last year in particular was difficult for her, and her health had deteriorated so much. I don’t feel guilty for euthanizing her. It was time. I never wanted her to suffer, and although I treated her conditions to keep her comfortable and functioning as optimally as possible, I didn’t want to do extreme measures just to keep her alive. Her body was just shutting down, unable to keep going.
But all the rationalization doesn’t diminish the pain of the loss. And as much as I want to push it aside, get over it already, or pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does, it’s still there. And I know that disconnecting from my sad feelings also disconnects me from all feelings. You can’t shut down just some.
I know in time, it will feel less acute. I know her leaving has left an opening for something new to come in. I know she’s at peace, free from her declining and painful body. I know we had something special, a bond that changed me, and her memory will always live in my heart.
“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.” – Mother Teresa
Emily, I didn’t know you were dealing with that. I’m really sorry for your pain and loss. You beautifully articulate difficult situations–this was a wonderful memorial to your beloved Sabrina. I’m sure others will find solace in it as well. –Sarah D.
Thank you, Sarah.
My heart is with you Emily. It is so hard to not want to grieve but I agree that disonnecting from those feelings does disconnect you from them all, which doesn’t help. I’m sending you a virtual hug and a pet for Sabrina across the universe.
Thanks, Susan!
Emily – such a sweet, courageous, honest and poignant post. Thank you for sharing your aching heart. Isn’t it amazing how much our furry companions wrap themselves around our hearts and teach us about unconditional love? I know that my heart broke when I had to euthanize my sweet Moose kitty who was Sabrina’s age and also quite ill. I feel with you.
Please give yourself the same gentleness and care that you unselfishly bestowed on sweet Sabrina.
Big hugs and love,
Sandi
Thank you, Sandi. Hugs back!