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I wish....
Jul. 30th, 2010 05:45 amhttp://www.flickr.com/photos/ysobelle/4843367868/sizes/l/in/photostream/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/ysobelle/4842772195/sizes/l/in/photostream/
I have this image in my head. I'm on a train, and it's pulling away from the station. She's sitting there, looking back at me, with that wide-eyed, calm expression, paws primly together, watching me go. I want so badly to get out and go back. But it's a train. Trains don't go back. She's gone. I can't go back.
Part of it, I'm sure, is my fear of her being alone. I sent her off alone, and moved on without her. She's so small, and so sweet, and so gentle, and I left her there all alone.
As I looked at her on the cold steel table, 4.30 on Wednesday afternoon, I was reminded of my grandmother's death, and how we had a shomer to sit with her and recite prayers continuously until she was buried. It seemed so beautiful, and so respectful, and so comforting. But we don't do that for cats, and all I could manage, as Dr. Trotman picked her up and took her body away, was, "Will they be...." I couldn't say any more. But she understood.
"Yeah," she said kindly. "Yeah, they will."
I had a huge fight with my mom this afternoon. The kind after which we don't speak for days. But tonight, I just broke down, kneeling at the side of my bed, sobbing. I called, and I just begged them to tell me I did the right thing. It's not that I don't believe it, but I just wanted someone to say to me, I just needed to hear: "It's okay. You had to. You did the right thing." I understand it. I recognise it. But I'm a long way from accepting it.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/ysobelle/4842772195/sizes/l/in/photostream/
I have this image in my head. I'm on a train, and it's pulling away from the station. She's sitting there, looking back at me, with that wide-eyed, calm expression, paws primly together, watching me go. I want so badly to get out and go back. But it's a train. Trains don't go back. She's gone. I can't go back.
Part of it, I'm sure, is my fear of her being alone. I sent her off alone, and moved on without her. She's so small, and so sweet, and so gentle, and I left her there all alone.
As I looked at her on the cold steel table, 4.30 on Wednesday afternoon, I was reminded of my grandmother's death, and how we had a shomer to sit with her and recite prayers continuously until she was buried. It seemed so beautiful, and so respectful, and so comforting. But we don't do that for cats, and all I could manage, as Dr. Trotman picked her up and took her body away, was, "Will they be...." I couldn't say any more. But she understood.
"Yeah," she said kindly. "Yeah, they will."
I had a huge fight with my mom this afternoon. The kind after which we don't speak for days. But tonight, I just broke down, kneeling at the side of my bed, sobbing. I called, and I just begged them to tell me I did the right thing. It's not that I don't believe it, but I just wanted someone to say to me, I just needed to hear: "It's okay. You had to. You did the right thing." I understand it. I recognise it. But I'm a long way from accepting it.