And the grief goes on

Two days from now, it will be one month since we lost our old man kitty. I still tear up when I come home and he isn't at the door waiting for me food. Sometimes I think I hear him down the hall. I even miss his caterwauling (well, that not so much.) In these past few weeks, each of us has traveled varying distances on our own winding paths of grief.

It is a painful thing to watch this grief wash over your child. I will never forget the night before he left us, the night we all came to realize that his life was slipping away. How we cried together. How we fawned over him. How we longed to ease his suffering. My son sitting at the table eating his dinner and bursting into tears at the sound of our little friend's pained cries. How my heart nearly broke at the two mingled sounds.

My own pain at the loss of him has eased in this time. Age and perspective and the cares of this life intervening to dull its effects. Until the sweet girl comes out of her room at night, tears in her eyes, with the now anticipated words on her lips ... I miss kitty. My own pain is further diminished when I consider the magnitude of hers, when her broken heart is written there, on her face, in her voice. And then a fresh pain, the pain of a mother, as she utters the words that pierce me - I just want him to come back. If only I could give that to her.

But I can't.

So, I do what I can. I lie with her in the dark and hold her. I let her cry. And I cry, too. I let her talk. I suppress my own desire to speak, to fix, to coax the tears away. I stroke her tear-streaked face, and listen to her pour out her grief. I listen as she tells me she doesn't think there is another kitty in the whole world like our kitty. And I agree. I listen as she lays out a plan to honor and remember him. At the appropriate time, I remind her of that silly thing he used to do and elicit a shared chuckle amid the sobs. The pain is still there. But grief once shared becomes a lesser burden. And sleep comes.

She showed me today the drawing she made and taped upon her door....

... and I wondered if her grief would ever end.

And then she speaks of the future, of the kitties which are to come.... And I am reminded that life goes on, that though the heart does not forget, it yet was made to be healed. And healing slowly comes.