Friday, September 2, 2011

The Hardest Thing

My sister, Pishy the Cat, passed away the day before yesterday. My Mom and I are very, very sad.  We miss her very much.  We loved her so much.  So very, very much.  I don’t really know how we are going to go on with life.  Life in our home will never be the same again.  We will never be the same.  Mostly, we feel empty without her presence.   Her Meow, Meow, Meow-ing as she would cheerfully run to the door to greet my Mom home every day.  Her friendly “rrroooo!” sound she would make as she'd look straight into Mom’s eyes just before jumping onto her lap.  Her cute white furry belly that she'd expose when she would run out ahead of Mom, stretch out on the floor, and expect a good old-fashioned tummy rub.  How we both loved to take naps in the warm comforting sunshine.  And the way she would just sit still and look at me like I was crazy, every time I would race up to her, get down on my front paws, wag my tail, and hope she would  play with me.  I will miss hearing Mom say, every day, “Shamzi she STILL doesn’t want to play with you!”

Life now feels empty.  What will Mom and I do without her?

We are very sad now.  But don’t get me wrong.  We are very grateful, even though we are so sad.  It is just that “sad” is pretty big right now.  My Mom says that maybe, after enough time has passed for our broken hearts to heal, we might begin to feel less sad and empty.  And more happy and full.  Someday, we will be able to feel only grateful for our dear Pishy's life and for the blessing of getting to live our lives together with her for all these wonderful years. Someday, we will be able to focus only on the infinite every-day moments of simple joy and happiness that we shared together.   And someday we will be elated that we carry Pishy in our hearts all the time, everywhere we go, everything we do.  

My Mom read a poem by Mary Oliver to me last night, called “In Blackwater Woods,” and the part that sticks with me is this:
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it against your bones
knowing your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

That third thing is the hardest thing.            I love you so very much, Pishy.