I've never written a letter like this,
but I have to do something, anything,
to make the "nothing" go away.
I am very quiet inside, very empty - a void, if you will...
there is nothing there.
It seems that way, anyway. I am hurting.
One thought is that it's good to feel like this,
as it shows me that I truly loved you and miss you terribly.
Another thought is that it just makes me want to sit around and do nothing,
trying not to think too much, and trying not to cry.
I will go with the first thought, but I wish it could be without the dull,
ever-present ache that accompanies it.
Humans have emotions, Sassy, that may be quite different from yours when you were alive,
but maybe not, as I've seen cats that seem to mirror human emotions quite well.
The feelings that I am having are a strange and mixed-up combination of things -
they are something like a heartbreak from a romantic break-up;
great disappointment as a child at something that didn't go the way I was hoping it would;
anxiety because there is no way to make anything happen other than what happened -
there is no trading off, no substitution to change what happened;
and you just feel so lost, so overwhelmed, so totally deflated.
Lost is a good description, I think, Sassy.
And that brings to mind the thinking - that's a big part of the "nothing" that is inside me -
thinking and remembering and wanting those memories to come back to life,
and knowing that they wont, they can't.
What is it that makes up the different steps, Sassy? -
Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and finally the Acceptance.
There are a few other words that are missing from the list,
but they really go hand-in-hand with the five steps of grief;
ungodly emotional pain that makes me cry out in supreme anguish
as I realize what has happened and that it is done -
I cannot undo it;
tears that will not stop, even when time has passed,
because the memories and thinking bring them back -
Actually my tears are memories that spill over from my eyes and run silently down my cheeks,
in a sort of pure offering to your memory.
I have no other way of showing my love for you, other than my tears.
Most of my pain over losing you, I will, I pray that I can,
keep inside, private and personal, sort of just between you and me,
because I feel, very strongly, that you are still here, still with me,
and you, in your new state, can see and hear my silent pain, can understand everything now,
and though I can't see you or touch you, I can still do that in my mind,
sometimes in my dreams, I hope.
I know that if I am fortunate enough to dream of you, Sassy, that in that dream
I will see your face again, look into your eyes again, hold you again, pet you again,
hear your purr and feel you lean against me again.... at least for a short moment -
it will never be enough, and I know that, but it will be such a valuable bit of time for me, and for you.
I'm having a lot of trouble in "just accepting" this experience, Sassy;
I don't like it, but that is, I guess, normal.
I have a constant headache as I go though the hours, as I remember, as I think,
and as I write this - because the emotions over your leaving are ebbing and flowing within me,
and my mind seems unable to help my heart handle this, and it seems to get channeled to a headache
that is the result of the tension and the pain of losing you.
It's good to feel these discomforts, Sassy, so don't feel bad about it -
it is my body's way of saying I am in mourning, and when I don't cry out in rage and anguish,
when I instead remain quiet, but need an outlet, perhaps that is when the headache happens.
I don't really know, Sassy,- I'm just winging this, and I seem to be following myself around in circles,
looking for some explanation that I can hold close that will help, and that I will never find.
I think back, and in the last few days there you are,
where you always laid on the bed, in that one corner,
and when I would come into the room, you would raise up and walk over to me, a bit unsteady on your feet,
but you would still do it, and you would look up at me and rub up against my hand,
then you would curl up there, and I would pet you, and you would purr so beautifully....
I would give anything if that could happen again. Anything.
You were past fourteen years of age, and that, they say, is about the same as being 75 years old in my years,
and I guess that would make the way you were at that stage of your life about right -
infirm, sickly, slower, and on the way out. You probably knew it, and understood it,
and accepted it much better than I, much better than I am able to, even now.
We put you in a small wooden box, Sassy, and while it was a little snug fit, you did lay there,
looking so peaceful, as if you were only sleeping, and would waken easily if asked to.
We took you to the veterinarian's, and paid the fees, and left you there with them.
I had already called the crematoria and spoken with the people there,
and I ordered your urn as well. It's a nice urn, Sassy - cherry stain, wooden rectangle on a base,
with a place for your picture under glass, on the front.
I will have a small brass plate made up for you -
it will say: Sassy - 2001 to 27 Nov 2015,
and I will attach it to your urn, then I will keep you near me,
where I can see you, where I can talk to you, where I will find comfort in your being close to me.
When it is my turn to be placed into a box, you will go with me as well, hopefully you will be placed in my arms,
and then we will go together into that good night.
I will come to Rainbow Bridge and find you, and we will cross the bridge to Heaven together.
That will be a joyous reunion. I know that you are there, already, waiting for me,
and that time means nothing to you now, and that your are restored to your earlier healthy state,
that you want for nothing, you have no pain, and you are with Patches and Whisper and Autumn and Toby....
all of you are together there.
I just miss you so very much, Sassy.... but there is this to look forward to.
I will see you and hold you and pet you once again, and this time nothing will separate us again.
I love you, and I always will. I will never stop.