I admit it. I’ve been hiding out, avoiding my blog. As long as I stayed busy and didn’t pour my thoughts onto a post, I wouldn’t have to think too hard about how I feel. How much it hurts me that Quigley is gone. I feel silly. Getting that upset about losing a pet. I mean, there are people dealing with the loss of a spouse or a child. How could I possibly complain about my cat dying when she lived a long and happy life?
And so I tried to stay busy. That was no problem over the weekend. Gerrit had his basketball game and Emma had the Father/Daughter dance. Church and family dinner on Sunday. It was easy to brush aside my thoughts. Focus on the kids instead of my sadness. Then Monday came and I was alone again.
I tried to be rational and reasonable. Reminding myself that I had grieved the day she died. I cried… a lot. My frog eyes the next day were a testimony to that fact. Now I needed to let it go. One day should be enough, I told myself. But my heart doesn’t want to listen. It still hurts. It still expects to see her sleeping on the kid’s beds or to come meowing into the kitchen with the clatter of dishes from me making food. I still wake up at night expecting to see her lying next to my face, for the rumble of her purr as I pet her sleepily.
It takes time, I know. 15 years is a long time to have a friend and I shouldn’t demand myself to get over her in one day. As I broke the news to Emma & Gerrit, I reminded them that it’s ok to be sad about her. That it’s good to miss her because it means we really loved her. I guess I need to accept that for myself. Rest in peace sweet Quigles.