My Heartbreak, My Joy

I've had much to write about in the past month, but for whatever reason never sat down to do it. I took 2 separate trips to Vegas with some of my most favorite ladies in the world, and each trip was like a special event in my life. The first trip was a rendezvous with my dear girl Lola, 5 days of just she & I wandering about the Vegas Strip with no need for anything but one another's company. The second trip was a reunion of sorts with 3 of my college roommates, a trip planned around a Leonard Cohen concert, which was one of the most inspiring musical events of my life. There is so much to be said about each of these excursions, my first trips to Vegas without Alex. So much to be said, and yet, I don't have the strength just now to write about joy. I took a trip home to Jersey for the holidays, attending multiple parties and reuniting with many friends and family members. There is much to be said of my east-coast doings of the past 2 weeks, and yet, I don't have it in me to write about the wonders of the holiday season. I have so much that I should have written about, because now all of the laughter has all been colored in sorrow, and to write of happy times seems callous and shallow. I have nothing much to say, on this perfect sunny day in Seattle, except to write of heartbreak and loss. And while I don't want to throw a shadow on anyone's holiday spirits, I have to put a few things into writing so that my grief can take form instead of sitting like a stone in my chest. I have to put it into words to begin to accept it as reality. I have to write it out:

She-ra, my perfect fuzzy daughter, died on Christmas Eve.

Oh God, even looking at in print makes me feel nauseous. And silly. For while I know that, for me, for Alex, her death is devastating and overwhelming and all-consuming, I can't help but have a little voice in the back of my head saying, "She's only a cat." Not because I feel that way myself, oh no. For me, she was my baby, my comfort in being home at night, my solace when in pain, she was my reminder to look on the bright side, my proof that life is beautiful, my understanding of unconditional love. She has been with me since 1995, and not a day has gone by that I haven't felt lucky to be her mama. She completed the family that Alex and I began to create in 1996, the family that has seen it's share of ups and downs and always managed to make it through, because we had each other. How many times over the years have Alex and I gotten into a fight about who-cares-what, and somehow, her little fuzzy face would force us to think about how much we had to lose by not being together. She started out as My Cat (actually, she started out as a former roommate's cat, but she became mine very quickly), and it took some time for her to let Alex in. But for a decade now, she has been Ours, Our Baby, Our Kitty, Our Family. Alex was her daddy, and oh, how relieved I am that when she died, he was right there to hold her. When she knew she was dying, she came to find him, to let him comfort her. She looked right into his eyes, and he knew she was going, and he knew she was scared, and he knew that she was glad to be with him in those last moments.

Oh, how it breaks my heart to think of him alone with her, knowing she was dying, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it, nothing he could do to give me one last chance to see her. Because, while she was dying, I was 3000 miles away, eating Christmas Eve dinner with my family in Jersey. While she was dying, I was convinced that I would see her again in just 2 days. While she was dying, I was playing with my parent's 5-month old kitten. And I was laughing. Earlier in the week, I had spent 2 days in agony, wondering if I should hop on a plane back to Seattle, because she was sick, and I couldn't bear the thought of her dying without being by her side. I couldn't bear the idea of her spending her last hours without me scratching her chin and telling her how much I loved her. 2 days, I looked at flights and wondered what to do. I didn't want to fly back, because I thought that I was almost enforcing that these were her last days. And what if she was sick with something treatable? That was my hope. And my hope was confirmed by a vet who came to visit. She said that She-ra had a kidney infection, on top of the stage 3 kidney disease of which we were already aware. She said that She-ra, while very sick, seemed happy and not yet ready to go. And so, I didn't fly home to be there as she was put to sleep. Instead, Alex canceled his trip to Jersey so he could stay home to care for her, and I canceled my trip to Florida (for Alex's grandfather's 90th birthday party) so I could take over for him the day after Christmas. And I was so relieved, Alex and I were both so relieved that she wasn't ready to go yet. And over the next few days, she seemed to get a little better. She was sick, no doubt, but she wanted to be near Alex, she wanted to eat, she wanted love. Right up until the very end. It happened so suddenly. Alex had spent the day with her, she was out near him as he worked, she wanted to be with him. She went into the closet, her go-to sleeping spot, and Alex checked on her, gave her a little scritch on the chin, and went back to work. And then he heard her, something was wrong, she came out of the closet, he went to her....and she was gone. And Alex, poor Alex, he was in shock. He was convinced that she was getting better, we both were, even while understanding that she was sick and would never not be sick again. We both were certain that she was going to be okay. Otherwise, I would have come home. I would have been by her side. I would have had a chance to say goodbye to her, to hold her one last time, and to let her know that everything was gonna be okay, and I was so thankful for all of the joy she had brought to me over the years.

She wasn't just My Cat, she was my everyday. She was my understanding of motherhood. She was dearer to me than I can ever express in words. And I feel so empty without her. This apartment feels empty. And quiet. She was not a noisy cat, she didn't even meow, she just made little merping sounds, and she and I would talk back and forth in our little shared language, and I have no doubt that we understood one another. Quiet. The sound of her lapping water on the windowsill near my bed. The sound of her little nails on the varnished wood floors. The sound of her purring as she curled sleeping on a chair. Such small sounds, but their silence is deafening. Such a small cat, only 7 pounds, most of which had to be fur, but her presence was huge. It made any place we lived feel like home. And we've lived a lot of places. That cat saw more of America than most Americans ever will. Multiple cross-country drives, she's lived in 7 states, at who-knows-how-many addresses, and as much as she hated being uprooted each time we did it to her, she made it clear that she simply didn't want to be left behind. And we never could have left her. We never could have abandoned our child. She was our responsibility, yes, but also our treasure. For Alex and I, who have never planned on having children, this little ball of fluff allowed us to nurture whatever parenting instincts we had. And we were very good parents to her. Sure, we made her life hellish with our gypsy-ish wanderings. But all parents make life hell for their kids in one way or another. She-ra was never without love, never without affection, never considered to be less than a full member of our family. And she knew it, she knew that she was safe with us. Which is why she went to Alex when it was time for her to die.

Poor Alex, he wasn't ready. Neither of us is ready. I finally made it home last night after 3 days of being snow-bound in Jersey. Seriously, the timing of the past 2 weeks has been AWFUL. First, she gets sick when I'm far away and Alex is supposed to be joining me, we cancel multiple plane tickets and re-book new flights, then she dies late on Christmas Eve, which is about the only time I couldn't fly back to Seattle to be with Alex, which is the only place in the world I wanted to be, in his arms, nor could he fly to be with me, so we make a plan to meet in Florida, but a blizzard comes and shuts down the world and rather than trying to meet him in Florida on Sunday or Monday, I am stuck in Jersey til late Wednesday, when I finally make it back to Seattle, and I finally have the dreaded moment of walking into the apartment where she used to live, the apartment that now feels like a tomb. Even as the sun shines outside, with Mt. Ranier clearly visible beyond the city skyline, even as I marvel at the beauty of this apartment and the spectacular view of the city I now call home...all I see is the place where her food dish used to be. All I hear is the silence of her footfalls. All I feel is the hollowness in my heart. All I want is to have her back, and that impossibility overshadows everything.

Alex and I have had our share of heartache in the 15 years we've been together, but this is the first death we've shared. I know that time will heal this wound, and I know that we will someday have another fuzzy daughter (or son) to love and cherish. I know that our grief will lessen with each passing day, and eventually I'll think back on She-ra's life with nothing but joy and gratitude. I am so grateful to Alex for being such a loving father and husband, and I am so glad that he no longer has to be here alone with this silence. He and I will be just fine, and life will roll along to take us on new adventures with new friends. And maybe someday I'll be able to write about all the fun I had in Vegas with my ladies this past month. But for now, I am going to live in this pain and let it wash over me until my grief has been washed away and my heart settles into my chest without the burden of this grief. I am going to let myself cry as much as is needed, until I find that I have no more tears to shed. As much as this heartbreak ROYALLY SUCKS and is leaving me feeling debilitated, I would go through it a thousand times more rather than lose one moment of the joy She-ra brought me for almost 16 years. I would never deny joy in order to avoid pain. So, allow me to grieve, and grieve for me if you will. But never doubt that I am happier in my grief than I ever could have been without it. While I wish that her ending could have been different (mainly, I would have been with her and Alex, for my own selfish need to see her go, and to keep Alex from having to go through all of this alone), I wouldn't have changed a single thing about my life with her. It was perfection. And I am so lucky to have been her mama.