Grief

When someone says "Oh my pet got put down and it was sad," I think 'OK, it's no big deal.'
When a cat you have known for most of your life is put down, without know so much as knowing it was going to the vet, it's so much different.
The first thing you feel is disbelief. 'It can't happen! You're kidding! SHUT UP!'
Then, when you see their face, it all come flooding at you. Your face is a tortured piece of junk (unless you can control it) that is drenched with salty tears.
Then, you think the 'no big deal' bit. the 'I can live with that' and the 'I'll get over it.'
And then, if your me, afetr that you get the waves of emotion, like poison, flooding at you, drowning you until you scream "Enough!"
But it doesn't stop.

On the fourth of April, 2008, at 11:30, a cat that scratched, meaowed piteously and purrred exoticly died peacfully in its loving owners arms. And for the last time ever, it was stroked with my shaking hand and laid to rest. And I can't shake that feeling that that WAS the last time I ever stroked B.C, and that WAS the last time I saw her peaceful exspression before she was buried under the lemon tree and cascaded with flowers from the garden.
And as I write this, tear fall down my face, because I can't handle grief, it's my first time, all that fond love is pouring out, yet I want it to stay, because I struggle to face the fact that
SHE IS DEAD.
It's obvious, she's not on her bench, meawing and shivering with athritis, she's not trying to climb through the window into the living room. And the cat at my grandparents that was 19 years old died peacfully in my Granddads arms, unaware of my grief.




Dear B.C,
I hope you live a painless life up there.
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Lots of love,
Neina-Marie