|Bluebird (Hobby on top)|
There’s a point in the mourning process where no amount of comfort or consoling will help. In fact, it may hurt no matter the intent. Perhaps this is the stage of disbelief, I don’t know. But I am at that point right now. Have been for quite some time.
I don’t want words of comfort, no hugs, no sympathy. I only want my loved ones back. I heard a song the other night that included a phrase, “How do I turn your memory / Back into you instead?” (Symphony in 16 Bars, Kenny White) It really cut to my heart. That’s exactly how I feel.
At this point in my life, though I feel yet young, a fledgling in this thing called life, I have experienced too many losses. They seem to be piling up and each one only gathers all those before into a larger yarn ball of grief.
Just last month I lost not only Rainbow and Twygal but also found out that Fred, another of my colony cats, had died back in October. Of course all the pain from those losses entwined so closely with those of earlier times. The ties that bind. Twygal brought forth memories of Gabbie, Gabrielle’s Galaxy, her namesake, lost in ’94 before Twygal was even born. Thoughts of Mouse, her supposed mother, bring a sad smile to my face. And Aztec, my precious princess, wanders into my thoughts, a very special girl also born in ’94 and lost too soon.
|Twygal, Aztec, Rainbow|
Rainbow heralds her sister Ozma and her half brother Little Boy, her mother Hobby and the sisters I didn’t keep, Harvest and Jacqueline. Fred, who was once Toe to me, reminds me of Tic and Tac who died only babies, too young to fight. Bluebird, the first of her litter to leave brings back the anguish of losing her mother to diabetes as well as worries for the future of her brothers.
|Effie & kittens, Fuzzball, Question, Bluebird|
All of these thoughts crowd my senses and stop me from time to time, freeze my thought processes and keep me from creating. Every day I’m brought right back to a time when they were still here. Feeding times mean that Rainbow is no longer on top of the freezer demanding her food, Bluebird’s spot on the shelf is now taken by Glitter and the cat tree is empty, no Twygal to call for my attention.
Pill time means fewer pills to set out, no fluids for Rainbow to fight. Shopping for cat food is no longer the Great American Search for the new foods Rainbow or Bluebird might try. Now I can buy specific foods for the remaining cats and they will eat them. At bedtime Rainbow and Bluebird no longer fight for a spot under the blankets with me and Twygal’s purr no longer rests upon my side as I try to sleep.
My spirit has been injured, my heart broken into so many pieces I’ll never puzzle it back together again. And every pieces carries a soul indelibly fixed in my circle of muses. Someday Rainbow will be our guide back together again.