The Twists and Turns of Bereavement

Since my cat died last week, her absence has been a palpable presence.  I could feel that she was gone every minute of every day.  I knew she was nowhere in the house, not upstairs on the bed, not downstairs on one of the couches, not out in the yard doing whatever it is cats do outside.

I talked to my mother recently, and she said something along the lines of "It's hard, because I bet you keep waiting for her to walk into the room, keep seeing her out of the corner of your eye."  "No", I thought, because of that absence.

Now it's been almost a week, and suddenly I'm right where my mom thought I was.  I don't see Piglet anywhere -- she must be upstairs.  But wait, no she isn't; she'll never be upstairs again.  Wait a minute, she's not lounging on the couch; she'll never be lounging on the couch again.  She must be outside -- no, she's not.  She'll never again be outside, doing whatever it is cats do there.

Funny how grief works.  When I lost my grandparents (3 out of 4 now) I would be at their house and expect them to come in from the kitchen, to come down the hall, to come down the stairs.  I didn't feel their absence because I hadn't processed it yet.  Maybe this is because the lived far away from me and I couldn't process it.  Maybe it was different for those that lived with them.

I'm in a slightly different place with my grief right now, but mostly the same place -- I miss my cat awfully and I wish I could haev her back, alive and healthy and purring in my lap.