We lost one of our little 4-person family last week. I know it happened, but I still don't quite believe it. Grieving is so strange, because when they say stage one is denial, that doesn't quite explain how very involuntary it is. You know it's pointless to deny it because it's far too late for that, but the subconscious is a powerful, stubborn thing, and it just won't get used to reality.
It leaves you floating in this weird space where things are too normal for a half hour or an afternoon or most of a day, and then it sneaks up on you and punches you in the gut when you walk into the kitchen. And then it isn't real again, and you look at his picture, and you just feel the same as you always did. Love and affection. You don't feel "he's gone and I'll never see him again," and you sit there trying to feel it, because it's not right that you should feel okay looking at his picture, not when he's not here and never will be again. But if you make yourself feel it, the wrongness of it chokes you.
And then you try to go to sleep at night, in the dark with no distractions, and you remember the bad parts, the end. And then you try to think of the good, and you realize it's over, again and again, you have to keep realizing it. And you don't sleep.
I'm lucky to know so many people who understand there's no such thing as "just a pet." But even if there were- my wonderful little weirdo, my ridiculous, loving baby boy, would never have been one. He was such a huge presence, such a loud personality (literally and figuratively,) such an enormous part of our lives. Species doesn't change how much one being can be a best friend, a soul mate, family. He is, and grieving him is just as awful and strange as grieving a close family member, with the added shock of it being so incredibly sudden and without warning, and so cruelly young.
|The Derp Knight|
Kero was so smart and funny and loud and stubborn, and he loved everyone and everyone loved him. He commanded attention at all times. He exuded quirky charisma. His meow was insane. He loved nothing more than to be held over one shoulder or cradled in someone's arms like a baby, purring like a motorboat.
He followed me to every room- well, I say followed. He'd walk right ahead of me so I'd take a step and end up with his back foot between my toes. He liked to "bathe" our hands while grooming himself, but believed that rings and knuckles did not belong, so he would chew on them when he came to them. He recently began to love burrowing under blankets and would stay there for hours. He got into lots of trouble. He got lots of hugs and kisses. He was loved beyond measure. He still is. We were so blessed to have him in our lives, even for far too short a time.
I should have been bawling my eyes out writing this, and I was for some of it. But I still feel all of that love like it still has somewhere to go, most of the time. I just can't seem to come to grips with it. But I'm not expecting to sleep much tonight.
We will always love you, baby boy.