Throughout our lives we say goodbye. From the most difficult times, like the death of a family member, to the most sentimental ones, like turning over the keys to the first car you ever bought on your own when you get a new one, life is full of goodbyes.
I just had to say goodbye to my little boy Oy. My dear kitten -- who I call a kitten because he was my little Peter Pan: never "grew up" (in that he was always an indoor critterlove and always had that kitten mentality: four-legged parents know what I mean) and was always so sweet and energetic. But he's been sick for over two months now and went away this weekend off to heaven. If all dogs go to heaven, all cats do too, right?
I don't remember a time on my own that I haven't had a furry companion. After college, I lived with a roommate and she had a cat named Easter. Big Tori Amos fan, she was. So when I left her to move to Atlanta, I knew I wanted that in my life, too. Always lived with these loved ones growing up. In college, I did not (for obvious reasons: they don't allow them in the dorms, for one. Though I did have fish and a killer albino water frog once) but as soon as I was able to again, I did.
And I suppose our years together make up for the extreme sadness I feel right now. I might be able to actually believe that sentence in a little while. Right now, it's a little hard.
When I lost my Sammy cat here, I couldn't look at his pictures for a while. Now I can and be OK, but I couldn't then. But at the same time I also had dear little Oy who helped me not realize the sadness to the extent I am at this moment for the very fact that he was there. I could tell for a while he was sort of distraught back then too: where did the big orange daddy kitty go? But because of that loss, he became much more loving and always wanting *to be there*; a role Sammy always played before that since I had had him first. We were a comfort and blessing to each other in that way.
And so we got on. And moved on. And my little trouper Oy moved from home to home, place to place with me. I really think where I am now, he came most alive again in all the 15 years I was blessed to have him. He purred constantly. Curled up on my shoulder and tucked his little chin against me as I fell asleep. Loved playing with his "fishy toy" and greeted me at the door every day I'd come home from work. And every time I crawled into bed, wherever he was at the time, it would only take a few minutes to hear his "click click" feets [sic] across my hardwood floors to come to me, jump up on the bed and curl up with me for the night.
I have amazing friends. I told only a couple of friends what had to happen this weekend (and the fact the vet agreed gives me so much comfort) and the outpouring of support has astonished me and brings me to thankful tears even as I type right now. Wow, do I have an amazing support system. And I have to give special credit to an amazing man in my life who actually drove us, me and my baby, to the vet so I wouldn't have to go alone and subject Oy to his hated cat carrier; I was able to hold him instead. With Sammy, I didn't know who I could ask. I felt I had to do it alone so I did. It was such a blessing to find out that I didn't have to this time.
Sadly, and I feel horrible -- but I didn't realize at the time that when this same man had his own kitty years ago that I somehow unfortunately picked the same exact place he had to do the same thing himself back then. Right there, in that same room, even. Oh, how horrible did I feel! But he stayed there with me until the time where he knew the last moments I needed on my own with dear Oy instead.
Because when I had the same experience with Sammy, I couldn't do it. I couldn't be there, touching, holding him in his last moments. I always regretted it. How selfish! How scared was I (the first time I ever had to alone), but wow, how selfish too. So I promised my Oy earlier that day when I was waiting for him to come by to take us that I wouldn't do that. I would be there this time. And I was.
And I was there, my hands on him, for his last breath two days ago just as he was for me every time I fell asleep or laughed or cried and he somehow knew I needed him. And I hope he knew, even in slow sedation, that I was there for him at the last breath too. Well...his second last. He was already asleep via sedatives and I just didn't want to see or feel the last one and the folks at this place were so amazing to my needs. As were all of you who knew what was happening or found out shortly after and are here for me.
I'm not the first to lose a furry little loved one. I certainly won't be the last. But to have someone there this time to fold me up in arms and show me I wasn't alone meant the world. I didn't have that the last time. And I also know this time, with all the kind words and support I've received since, that I had any number of y'all who would have done the same darn thing for me had I only asked. I truly do like to think that Oy probably knew that too and was OK to go in his sweet little way because of it.
I went to lunch that afternoon with my friends (planned over a month before), knowing what I had to do afterward. I almost cancelled but for some reason decided not to instead. I realize now it's because any one of those folks -- or even all of them -- would have dropped the rest of their afternoon plans to come with me if I had only made mention of it. Maybe both me and Oy needed to know that. And it made it so much easier.
I don't like to name people by name here just because I like to respect people's privacy. But I want to thank everyone at that lunch that day, the dear who held me, my friends who helped me just have fun and forget for a little while that same evening (and the evening before), my colleagues and sorority sisters and friends who said: "just tell me what you need" when I was just wanting to apologize for my attitude and appearance today. I want to thank the friends who actually told mutual friends when I couldn't and, even though it made me tear up, it meant the world to get a little text message saying, "whatever you need." And the family members who are friends and the friends who are family who I know in a heartbeat I could call right now and they'd answer. And the friends and even acquaintances who distracted me with sweet, funny stories of their own or troubles of their own, not even knowing or asking why I looked so horrid today...because it didn't have to focus on saying goodbye just yet.
Because throughout our lives we say goodbye. From the most difficult times (like the death of a family member) to the most sentimental ones (like turning over the keys to the first car you ever bought on your own when you get a new one), life is full of goodbyes.
How blessed I am that I know I will never have to have a single one alone again if I don't want to. Because of all of you.
