Writing from within the darkness

I am deep in the process of grief yet again. I still mourn my two kitties who died within 6 months of each other and right after I retired….when I had hoped to spend more time with them as we all aged together (they were 17 years old and had been with me since they were kittens). I don’t talk about this too much to those who don’t have pets or perhaps don’t understand the connection that we have with our animal companions. But, for those that do understand, you know what I am writing about here.

I miss their furry little bodies next to me during the night….the purring that brought me such comfort, the warm body that I could reach out and touch…..life touching life, connecting heart to heart.. I live alone, have no family – so, and especially during this time of the pandemic, these fur babies have been my family, my lifeline. I miss them more than words can adequately describe. I have previously written about feeling lost during this time of my life, and this remains true still.

I adopted an older kitty whose previous owner died (in January). And now this kitty is not well. I am working with the vets (and so is my checkbook) to try and find out what is wrong. No answers yet. She seems sad to me. I live alone, and perhaps she needs more activity and people around her, since her previous owner had caregivers coming and going and providing activity and interaction. Perhaps the grief is too much for her. I firmly believe that my second kitty’s death was from the deep grief of losing his lifelong companion, which left him open to the cancer that invaded his liver and finally took him. Perhaps this little kitty cannot cope with the loss she has sustained. Perhaps I cannot comfort her adequately.

I wanted to write from the light as I worked my way through this darkness. But I really don’t know when that will happen. It’s not happening now. And so I write from the darkness. From the deep sadness and loss and the hole in my heart. I don’t know what to do. Maybe there is nothing to do, but to keep walking through this until I get to whatever the other side is. Maybe there is no other side, but only a learning to live with this grief as a more frequent companion as I continue to age, and ask what I can learn from it. What I can learn to help me keep living intentionally and consciously and fully.. It hurts. I hurt. That is part of life. It is not all of life, and I believe that there is still joy and light and love….but right now, I need to acknowledge that dark place and give it its due respect and space. And so, grief, I am here. Teach me what you will. I am here with you.