When The Moment Has Passed. Why We Grieve So Intensely.

[John Perram]

Thank you, Gareth. Your post was so true.

 

[gordonsmom]

Thank you Gareth. In 2013, I found your original post which helped me through my grief of losing my 18th month old Gordon. I have said goodbye to 4 other cats since then, but last night was for Brady, my 18 1/2 year old diabetic with IBD. It was a rough weekend starting with Saturday morning finding him in distress, and many $$ later, when last night I knew even before I rushed him back to the hospital that he was in diabetic ketoacidosis, and that with his age and other ailments, the prognosis was poor. Two hours later, I held him and kissed him goodbye. I have no regrets, except that I could not have had him longer, but I had no doubt that I was doing the right thing, at the right time.
Reading this post you wrote makes so much sense, especailly about the emotional investment. I take on the more diffucult cats - older, sicker, and emotionally broken, so none are easy, and I do get very emotionally invested. I have been preparing myself for Brady's passing for a while now, but this does not make it easier. The routines - feeding time and seeing his toes at the edge of the table waiting anxiously for his food, and more recently over the past six months, the every 12 hours of insulin shots and pills - this morning I could not even look at the spot he usually waited for me at. Support network - my husband does not handle things like this well and would not even say goodbye. Not that he does not care - he just cant handle it so doesn't, while I could never forgive myself if I were not the arms holding my babies as they pass.
Its not an easy process, but I would not have given up the opportunity to become his lifeline 9 years ago even knowing the heartache that I would eventully face. It is always good to know that others understand.

 

[tarasgirl06]

Thank you Gareth. In 2013, I found your original post which helped me through my grief of losing my 18th month old Gordon. I have said goodbye to 4 other cats since then, but last night was for Brady, my 18 1/2 year old diabetic with IBD. It was a rough weekend starting with Saturday morning finding him in distress, and many $$ later, when last night I knew even before I rushed him back to the hospital that he was in diabetic ketoacidosis, and that with his age and other ailments, the prognosis was poor. Two hours later, I held him and kissed him goodbye. I have no regrets, except that I could not have had him longer, but I had no doubt that I was doing the right thing, at the right time.
Reading this post you wrote makes so much sense, especailly about the emotional investment. I take on the more diffucult cats - older, sicker, and emotionally broken, so none are easy, and I do get very emotionally invested. I have been preparing myself for Brady's passing for a while now, but this does not make it easier. The routines - feeding time and seeing his toes at the edge of the table waiting anxiously for his food, and more recently over the past six months, the every 12 hours of insulin shots and pills - this morning I could not even look at the spot he usually waited for me at. Support network - my husband does not handle things like this well and would not even say goodbye. Not that he does not care - he just cant handle it so doesn't, while I could never forgive myself if I were not the arms holding my babies as they pass.
Its not an easy process, but I would not have given up the opportunity to become his lifeline 9 years ago even knowing the heartache that I would eventully face. It is always good to know that others understand.

So many of us do, G gordonsmom . We are all in a club no one wants to be a member of. But we wouldn't have it any other way, because the UNCONDITIONAL loyalty and love they give us is worthy of our being there for them all the way along.
My heartfelt condolences for your losses, and most sharply and painfully right now, of your sweet Brady.
I went with my friend/neighbor/now roomie and her sweet boy to their vet on what would be his final journey, and she could not bear it. I was the one with him as he ascended. Because of my beliefs, I know that this life is but a pale shadow of the wonders we will know when we join our beloved ones at the Rainbow Bridge. I hope you know this, too. You will meet again.

The beloved angel of my roomies, Tiger.

 

[Lucy&Petra]

Grief is like a glass of water. (Weird analogy but it worked for me so here goes...)

At the beginning you're holding that glass for a long time, and boy does it get heavy. You don't put it down, you just keep holding it, so it feels unbearably heavy - no matter that actual weight. Then over time, you put the glass down. Sometimes you put it down for a short time, sometimes longer. You feel relief for putting it down, and maybe even guilt. And as more time passes, you're able to put that glass down for longer time. Until eventually you can decide when to pick up that glass (and think about your grief) on your own terms.

And that's the only thing about grief that is the same for us all, it sucks, it can last a long time, and it never goes away, you just learn to live with it.

I do think it's true what they say though, it's better to have love and even feel the pain of loss, then never know what that kind of love feels like.

 

[gordonsmom]

Gareth, I first found your post on “when the moment comes” when I needed most, after I lost Gordon, my 18 month old, to FIP in 2013. Today I lost Gordons sister, Greta to congestive heart failure. She had her full life with us, but 12 1/2 years is not enough . I needed to read your post again as I have after every loss (there were 6 more between Gordon’s time and Greta’s.) I found this instead when I needed it most.
Even though you wrote this one a few years back, just wanted to say thank you. Most people dont get it. Maybe she was just a cat, but she was my cat and I loved her.

 

[tarasgirl06]

Gareth, I first found your post on “when the moment comes” when I needed most, after I lost Gordon, my 18 month old, to FIP in 2013. Today I lost Gordons sister, Greta to congestive heart failure. She had her full life with us, but 12 1/2 years is not enough . I needed to read your post again as I have after every loss (there were 6 more between Gordon’s time and Greta’s.) I found this instead when I needed it most.
Even though you wrote this one a few years back, just wanted to say thank you. Most people dont get it. Maybe she was just a cat, but she was my cat and I loved her.

"Just" a cat? In my family, cats have always BEEN family. My heartfelt condolences for your loss of Greta, and of Gordon. I hope you share the knowledge that the soul is eternal, and that they are safe in Perfect Love and Comfort, watching over their loved ones here on earth until reunited in due time.
Love is the only thing that truly matters in this world. And it goes on.

 

[Stormy accepts you]

continued...

Reason 5. We feel a responsibility for them.

Grandma was around before you were born. She knew more about life, love and death than you do. Grandma rocked. She didn’t depend on you. Maybe she did at the end, but hey that’s life. You didn’t go through your entire relationship ensuring their survival. We didn’t have to feed, clean and clothe Grandma. Well, some people do, and ask them how traumatic it is when the person they care for dies. Grandma was largely self sufficient. You don’t worry about Grandma if she’s out at night in the rain. Even in Wales we never used to leave a bowl of food out for a stray Grandma if we were worried she wasn’t getting enough nourishment. We never had to brush grandma. We never had to hand feed her or give her water. Until the end perhaps. My point is that Grandma looked after herself for most of her life.

Now let’s look at your cat. When your cat is hungry you feed it. When he or she needs water you give them water. If they jump in the bath with the baby (Loki I’m talking to you) then you towel them off and cuddle them until they stop looking scared. If they are indoor cats you protect them from getting outside. If they fall ill you feel a terrible cold in your heart and will move heaven and earth to make them well. You feel responsible for them. Eva, my Burmese should not have been on the road. They are an indoor breed. But she was born to roam. I couldn’t stop her, and in the end I gave up trying. And then she died. I’ll go to my grave knowing I could have done a bit more to stop her. I didn’t kill her, but I didn’t do my job properly. I will never fail another cat. Eva’s death haunts me, years later. We feel pain because we feel responsibility. We can feel like we failed, even though in the vast majority of cases we really didn’t. Eva would have got out another way sooner or later, and when I feel her loss that’s what I remind myself.

Reason 6, the real reason. The only reason.

Right then. Why does losing your cat hurt so much. This one will be short. I look at Mia doing something ridiculous and laugh out loud or reach for my camera, in the same way I do if my baby daughter does something funny. When Mia is lying in my arms I feel loved and somehow secure, and really warm knowing that she trusts me. I miss her when she is not around, and when I walk in the door and hear her miaowing and running over the wood floor to greet me I cannot help but smile. When the fireworks go off outside and she climbs under my jumper I know in that moment I would fight dragons to keep her safe. When I think about her ageing and falling ill and eventually passing I immediately move my mind elsewhere because the thought of the loss horrifies me. I worry about her safety, and spend time over her welfare. I take comfort knowing she is healthy, and that my daughter adores her, and vice versa. Watching her with my daughter, both happy as can be, and cuddling together, is simply the most awesome thing I have ever experienced in my life. There’s a word that encapsulates all of this. A word that describes this relationship. It’s love. It’s a love as real as any other. And the tragic end of love is pain. We feel the agony of loss because of the intensity of our relationship.

So, this turned into a bit of a ramble, for which I apologise, but the point is that your pain is all too sharp, and all too visceral, for very valid reasons. It's as likely to be PTSD as not. In the UK this is becoming more and more recognised. It shouldn't be surprising that those who watch their beloved pets die, or see their poo, violated bodies on the road, are traumatised in a very real way.

So be gentle on yourself, allow yourself to grieve, understand that it’s real, and that it will take time to pass.

In the meantime, I’m sorry for your loss. I really, genuinely am. You face this pain largely alone, but we on this board really are here to shoulder a tiny piece for you. We'll never bore of hearing stories of your cat, or looking at pictures. We'll never tire of you asking questions, or asking for help. We'll never belittle your pain. Ever. We've either all been there and understand your grief, or dread with very real horror the day we will face it. I can’t be there to make you a cup of tea and listen to the stories of your unique and wonderful love, but know if I was there I would do it gladly. It's what we British people do, after all.

Thank you for this. I forget to ask how people are doing, but it’s not because I don’t care. It’s because half the time, I’m only halfway here. The other half, I’m fighting my demons. And everyone else’s demons. But I always care. And I’m glad you do too.

 

[Stormy accepts you]

Gareth, I first found your post on “when the moment comes” when I needed most, after I lost Gordon, my 18 month old, to FIP in 2013. Today I lost Gordons sister, Greta to congestive heart failure. She had her full life with us, but 12 1/2 years is not enough . I needed to read your post again as I have after every loss (there were 6 more between Gordon’s time and Greta’s.) I found this instead when I needed it most.
Even though you wrote this one a few years back, just wanted to say thank you. Most people dont get it. Maybe she was just a cat, but she was my cat and I loved her.

They‘re never ”just a cat.” They’re our friends. Our family.

 

[tarasgirl06]

ABSOLUTELY, Stormy accepts you . That's how it's been in my family, on both sides, probably far back into the mists of time. They're not "like family" -- the ARE family.

 

[gareth]

Gareth, I first found your post on “when the moment comes” when I needed most, after I lost Gordon, my 18 month old, to FIP in 2013. Today I lost Gordons sister, Greta to congestive heart failure. She had her full life with us, but 12 1/2 years is not enough . I needed to read your post again as I have after every loss (there were 6 more between Gordon’s time and Greta’s.) I found this instead when I needed it most.
Even though you wrote this one a few years back, just wanted to say thank you. Most people dont get it. Maybe she was just a cat, but she was my cat and I loved her.

I'm sorry for your loss.

For the record, people that use the phrase "just a cat" are automatically excluded from my life. If people don't get it I'm not prepared to waste my time explaining it to them. My cats are my friends, my children, my family.

 

[tarasgirl06]

I'm sorry for your loss.

For the record, people that use the phrase "just a cat" are automatically excluded from my life. If people don't get it I'm not prepared to waste my time explaining it to them. My cats are my friends, my children, my family.

You and me both, on that. Speciesists, like racists, sexists and all the other "ists," are definitely not worth the time and effort, I agree.