Those We Love and See No More

On the summer solstice, I said goodbye to my beloved cat of 18, Kwame.  If you have ever had an animal companion, you will understand the depth of my sadness, and my desire to honor her memory.  Perhaps this piece, shared for All Saints Day on November 1, will prompt your own recollections and remembrances.  If so, please share them with us in the comments.  Blessings, Kathleen

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Dearest girl,

The mornings are too quiet without you.  Yesterday, the cremation people sent an email:  Your “aftercare” is done.  You are “ready” to be picked up.

Picked up!

Each day, dozens of times, I picked you up, kissed the top of your head, lifted you to the sofa, just to hold you near me.

You wore your aging and disabilities so gracefully, I forgot they were there.  Your sweet, ever-eager eyes, waiting and watching for my appearance at our breakfast and lunch dates…coming through the door after a day or an evening out…more than any other creature in the busy life of a mobile and active family, you, little furry four-footed Kwame, were “home.”

I almost can’t fathom returning to those places where I so recently held you, so trusting and so in command of your universe.  Never happier, safer, more secure than on my lap, paws crossed, in a meditative pose that always managed to nudge me, especially when I most needed it, into my own state of rest and calm.

I am still wrenched at the silent empty place where you slept, and from which you greeted me all those many years.   You were unique in all of time; there will never be anyone to replace you.

That last day you couldn’t lift you head.  You cried in pain.  You had always known own unconditional love.  It was time to say goodbye.

I don’t want to think about accepting a small box with your name on it as YOU.  Don’t want to relive our final journey to the vets, or the millions of times I took you there, in your youthful, wild years.  Dear Nancy, also gone now, so amused and understanding as the techs donned their iron gloves just to remove you from your travel box…your antic leaps up curtains and screen windows…your larger-than-life, Queen of Sheba, personna.

You will never be contained in a box – ever.  Nothing can hold you.  Nothing ever could, and nothing ever will.

I love you, my sweet cat.  Life has lost one of its more beautiful songs.

So what shall I make of this box?  Where “place” your little bones?

Dust to dust.  Ashes to ashes.

And, what would you want now?

I know.

Conversation.  Presence.  You with me in the mornings.  Memory.  Prayer.

Your purr, my metronome.  Your little paws and head on my lap, my anchor.

Your endless demands for affection, and my granting it.   “Together” constituted the rhythm of our life.

As I write this, I can begin to see what bringing you home is about.  It is the final journey to one another.  You, like all the sweet animals before you, have entered my heart, my soul, my skin and bones, forever.

A blessing on you, my angel, and all of the angels arrayed around us….those we love and see no more.