I stumbled across this beautiful forum while grieving my baby Finn. I started to write a post but it took a few days to get my account validated. What started out as a post turned into a 20 page essay, much too long.

I'm glad it took so long to get my account validated now. I wasn't forced to break up my story or my mind into reasonable chunks suitable for a forum posting. My account is now validated and I'm not quite sure what to do with with my story of the last poignant week. So I am going to copy and paste my 2 days labor which is way too long. I do hope some take the time to read it. I know it lacks the convenience of just reading short posts and I hope its not regarded as improper. I'm not even sure I would've read such a long post a few days ago.

I want the makers of this site to know that I will be forever grateful for them providing this forum. If you read my text, you'll see why. I am particularly grateful to Aaron and Reggie for their story, and the Toms Dad who now hates his sister for her cruelness. I would love to hug them both. Many posts comforted me, but Aaron's touched me the most.

moonbeam, you are an angel and I love you. There are others here that have my love too, but you in particular wrote to me as you wrote to others in my position. You have a special place in my heart. If you are ever in Seattle, I will buy you a beer, several.


Thanks to all of you moderators and grieving furball parents for sharing your experiences. You truly saved me.

---

Grieving Finn

1.
Last Sunday, I slept in. I got up around noon and made my coffee as my four precious kitties wove around my feet for my attention (which I gladly gave them). After plenty of pets and high-voiced, cooing cat phrases, I opened the door for the three who love to be outside so they could start their yard patrol. Still in my pjs, I sat down and started the Sunday crossword in a beam of golden sunlight coming through the window. About a quarter way into my puzzle, I got a knock at the door. I peeked out the window and saw it was a rather bland looking woman with a couple of small children. It had all the earmarks of Jehovah's Witnesses. So, preparing to give my most courteous "thanks but no thanks speech", I opened the door. She looked serious.

"I'm sorry to bother you but do you have a little black and white cat?" Somehow I knew right then that my world was ending. "Yes," I hedged. She was kind and gentle as she said, "I'm sorry but I think I have some bad news." My heart started racing. I just wanted to KNOW--don't sugar coat it, Lady. "Is he dead?" "I think so."
She said something about the road in front of my house; she was driving home from church and noticed him there. I barely listened. I was racing to get my sandals and still in my pjs I left the house and sprinted to the street. Oh please, let him still be alive please, please, please! I exited the woods that ran between my house and the street and looked to my right. About a quarter block away, Finn, his distinctive bright white, black-spotted little body was lying at the side of the road. I ran to him. There was a small pool of blood that had run from his mouth onto the pavement. His eyes were just empty. His little tongue hung out slightly to the right side of his mouth. I think at that point is when Detached Me first appeared.

I gently picked up his tiny body--my god it was just limp. This cat was only nine pounds but in his prime and built like Mack truck. He spent his days climbing, running, jumping, playing. He was incredibly athletic and I would often marvel at his beautiful, sinewy body as he flew around our wooded acre that was His territory. But now, he was so unbelievably limp. That limpness continues to haunt me.

"Is there anything I do for you," asked the woman. I couldn't speak. I simply shook my head no. Cradling him in my arms, I floated back to the house. My husband who was just getting up himself met me at the door. He had heard the talking but hadn't understood what was said. He started to ask me something but I cut him off and just said, "He's dead." Scott, with a look of one who just got sucker-punched quietly moaned, "Nooo…" I sat down in the same chair, where only minutes before I was leisurely enjoying a crossword, and put Finn on my lap. I shudder with horror now when I think that I was indulging myself with a stupid crossword puzzle when my best friend needed me in that street.

Scott went to get a wet rag to clean Finn's face. I told him to turn off the radio that was playing an incongruously cheerful bluegrass tune. I was still thinking, maybe he's still really alive...maybe? I rubbed his chest to try and restart his heart oh how desperate I was. The denial was starting, at least that's what Detached Me whispered. (I seriously feel like I broke into two people. One calm and rational that was working overtime to keep my sanity intact, the other in shock.)

Why was he in the street? He never went there. He had an entire acre far away from the street that he loved. How could this happen? Why Why WHY!? His body was still perfect so we speculate that when he was struck, he must have flown and hit his head on impact. I hope that is the case; that means he didn't suffer long.
Once the blood was wiped, Finn looked normal, like he was sleeping peacefully. He was still warm but I could see the pads of his paws turning a little blue. I don' t know how long we sat there stroking him while rehashing all the same questions over and over.

Detached Me finally stepped in and told Scott to grab Finn's blanket and place it in the den on the stuffed chair. I followed holding my beloved little friend and curled him up into it. He really did look like he was taking his afternoon nap. We left and closed the door to let his spirit calm itself after its ordeal. I believe the spirit lingers near the body for hours or even days after death, until it's ready to move on. I am grateful to that woman who had gone out of her way to ensure Finn found his way home so quickly after being struck. I also feel guilty for thinking that beautiful Samaritan was bland.

For the next few hours I started to de-shock and that's when the first set of tears came (followed by oceans of tears since). But there was still this part of me that insisted Finn might be still be alive. I kept going into the den half-expecting to see him stir and 'come out of it.' Now, of course, I see how foolish and desperate that was, but at the time I refused to concede any hope. Scott told me later that he had the same thoughts during that time--that maybe he would 'come out of it'.

Each time I checked on him, I could see the process of death; the cooling of the body, the slight stiffening, and finally, pure rigor mortis. As horrible as that was to witness, it forced both of us to face that fact that he was truly gone, which we needed. I also wanted to comfort his beautiful little spirit with my Love, and ease any fears he may have been having as he journeyed through the dimensions of death.

This 'Little Man', Scott calls him, was the love of our lives and clearly our favorite. I had the shameful thought that if I had to lose one, I wish it had been one of the others. I love all my cats and I hated myself for thinking that. I later learned that Scott had the same thought. The unfairness, the questions, the aching and the anger were the only things left in my world. It's difficult to commiserate with Scott because he is a master at bottling things up and dealing with grief piecemeal.

Around 4 PM my three remaining cats tapped their watches impatiently to remind me it was snack time. This was a daily ritual and the highlight of their day. I was shaking when I took out the little plates, grabbing four like usual. Realizing I only needed three now hit me and I broke down, falling to my knees in despair. The cats wandered around me rudely prodding me to hurry up. Joey is a big chatty cat with an extensive vocabulary. He gets very vocal when I prepare the snacks and Finn would always smack him in the head as if to say, "Knock it off, she's working as fast as she can." It worked too. Joey would be quiet. I managed to open the cans and scoop out the treats. I scooped out four portions and placed them on the floor. Finn's plate just sat there alone while the others dined. Before they finished, I picked up Finn's plate. I didn't want them eating his portion. I threw it away.

The rest of the day is blurry. I finally stopped checking in on Finn to witness a miracle. A neighbor stopped by and Scott and he hauled some firewood up to our house. The neighbor was drunk and offered me uninspiring drunken death coping advice. I started a fire in the pit outside hoping the fresh air and the comforting glow of a fire would help. It didn't. By bedtime, my face was swollen and dry from the salty tears that would not stop. Naturally there was little sleep that night. Finn wasn't there under the blankets on our crowded bed. Each time I would drift off I would wake with a start and the memories and agonizing sorrow would flood in.

2.
Nothing could prepare me for the next morning. Monday was cold and dreary. Making my coffee was probably the saddest moment of my life. A huge presence was missing and the last time I made coffee was the last time I saw my Finn. It was still dark out and Finn would never be allowed outside in the dark so this would be the time he would sleep on my lap, or tease the other three cats. Questioning the wisdom of this teasing never occurred to Finn despite the fact he was half their sizes. While I would work on my laptop, I might hear them running around the house with the occasional whack, hiss or crashing into walls when they'd misjudge their speed. Mornings were so delightful. Now they are were cruel.

Before Finn died, when the light of day would arrive, Finn and his housemates Linc and Joey would go outside to see how the homestead fared overnight. Timid, sleepy little Sean would stay in with me. We have these big windows all around the living room that give an expansive view of our property. While I worked, I would often catch a little white flash out of the corner of my eye and would look outside to see Finn thoroughly enjoying his life. Everything was of critical importance to Finn. That mosquito he'd have to jump after, the view from the top of the apple tree, the molehill hole he had to get his entire 'arm' down into. Every fifteen minutes or so he'd need to come in and check on me to make sure that he was still the center of my universe and to get the morning's ration of pets, kisses and wrestling. Then back it was back off to work surveying every inch of the yard to see what other critical items needed his attention. This cherished routine was now gone forever.

The day brought more sobbing and more unceasing replays of the events of Finn's death. He was still in the den. It was time to lay him to rest. A few years before, I had another cat that died. Cholla lived with me for 18 years and suffered from renal failure, common for cats that die in old age. When Cholla and I both knew the time was right, I took her to the vet nearby and stayed with her while they ended her suffering. They placed her in her blanket in this rather nice little cardboard box that had the shape of a modern coffin. Scott and I brought her home and like Finn, we let her rest in the comfort of her home for a day, letting her spirit relax while giving us a chance to say goodbye. We buried her by my garden shed in the yard. That old girl never lost her mind or sight or the will to live until the end. I was grieved but after her long beautiful life and knowing her old body's suffering was gone, I was able to cope with her death and heal reasonably well. It will undoubtedly be different with Finn's abrupt and tragic end.

Remembering that sweet little coffin and not having the mind or energy to try an fashion a coffin, I asked Scott if he minded if I would go to that vet and get one for Finn. He agreed. It was surreal being outside of the house. I'm not sure who was driving the car, but I suspect Detached Me was lending a hand. I pulled up to the stoplight just across the street from the vet and waited behind another car at a red light. I noticed this car had a bumper sticker. I read it:
IF YOU LOST YOUR CAT
TRY LOOKING UNDER MY TIRE.
I had to read it twice to make sure my brain was processing this correctly. This was a nice car, not some old teenager jalopy. This 'person' chose to put just one sticker on their nice car, place perfectly in the middle of the bumper that conveyed the cruelest joke I could've seen at that moment. I felt my face redden, and the urge to follow this 'person', flag him down and punch him in the face shot through me. For what seemed like hours at that light, I debated with myself whether this would be wise. Thankfully while I was still debating, Detached Me drove through the light that was finally green and pulled into to the clinic’s parking lot. There are no words to describe this 'person' that his action doesn't already convey, so I won't bother sharing my opinion.

During the drive I had steeled myself to keep my composure at the vet to ask for the coffin. With the bumper sticker burning like acid in my mind, my strength gave out as soon as I got in the door. The waterworks came on strong. The woman behind the desk whom I had seen for years during too many vet visits, was patient as I finally asked for the coffin. As she went to retrieve one from the back, I jotted down my and Finn's name on a card. She returned with the little coffin and I held out a twenty to pay for it. With kind eyes she just shook her head and waved her hand like I was being ridiculous. I gave her the card and blubbered that I needed the records updated because I didn't want to get one of those checkup reminders for Finn in the mail. She nodded sympathetically; getting the message that such a reminder would do me in.

With the coffin on the passenger seat, I bawled all the way home. I told Scott about the bumper sticker and he was incensed. But our rage was short-lived because we had more pressing concerns, saying goodbye to Finn in the den and digging a hole outside. I hadn't gone into the den that morning yet and now was the time to. I knew what to expect to see as far as how the body is after a day of death because I had seen it with Cholla. I'm not sure if Scott did. Either way, it's a difficult sight and petting Finn's now very cold hard body was sad. But we needed to and I kissed him before I wrapped him in his blanket and placed him in the coffin. There was a big, sweet-smelling stain on the chair as a result of the normal release of bodily fluids in death. I didn't care. It was a cheap thrift store chair anyway, but soft and comfortable for my Finn's last sleep in our home.

The weather was threatening its forecasted snowstorm when we went out towards the garden shed. We have a little cement statue of a crouching cat on top of Cholla's grave and I said hi to her while Scott introduced her to Finn. After giving up on one spot due to too many tree roots, Scott finally started digging Finn's last napping spot. Using the shovel’s head to measure the coffin, he was successful in making sure it would fit. We placed Finn in the hole and said some words that I can't remember. The snow was starting to fall as we just stood there in our own thoughts for a while. We finished the task and went inside the house. Inside was warm with a wood fire going strong and I imagined Finn lying on his blanket in front of the hearth. He and Sean would sleep there together often and now Sean was there alone.

I really just wanted to sit in front of the fire and stare at his blanket while wallowing in self-pity but there was the issue of the chair. I could smell that sweetness on my coat. It wasn't an unpleasant smell actually but I was concerned that if much more time passed, the smell would turn bad and really disturb the other cats. Up until now, they seemed oblivious to the events of the last 24 hours. I mentioned this to Scott and so we closed off Sean in another room, which greatly irked him, so we could sneak the chair out to our truck. He was quickly freed and off we were to the dump.

The long ride through the wooded back roads was mostly silent. Nothing felt real. We paid eight bucks to dump Finn's last bed and discovered we were hungry. We had barely eaten the day before and quickly dismissed the idea of cooking. On the way to the Mexican restaurant for all-you-can-eat 'Taco Monday', our truck started smoking. Fortunately, someone had decided to build a gas station right there and we pulled in. Scott crawled under truck to survey the front wheel where apparently the brake had seized. Suddenly he ordered me to go inside the mini-mart to grab a fire extinguisher. Our truck was now on fire. By the time I returned with the extinguisher, Scott had poured a bottle of water on the fire and it was out. It was a little scary but the drama gave a brief respite from the painful thoughts of Finn.

The day before Finn died, a tree fell on our house. It is a big tree and it's still there. While we were at the dump, a tree service was at our house preparing us an estimate. While I was in the mini-mart getting the fire extinguisher, the tree man phoned the cell and gave us the tally. Naturally the estimate is just under our home insurance deductible and will hurt. Bad. So at this point were sitting in our smoking truck not saying anything, wondering how we will deal with this enormous tree on our house and grieving our murdered cat. Finally looking at each other, we both came to the same realization. God hates us. No, loathes us. The bumper sticker was the real clue. How else is it fathomable that on a quiet rural road, on the way to pick up a coffin for a cat killed by a car that a message about ‘the joy of running over cats’ would appear? This was quite a shock to us when you consider we are atheists. Maybe there IS a God and he was sick and tired of us denying him. Maybe God was giving us the big fat bird.

Scott has all the great man knowledge about cars that is rarely bestowed to women, and was able to free the brake in the gas station parking lot. Disappointment was still lurking however when we got to the restaurant and 'Taco Monday' wouldn't start for two hours yet. I wanted to snark to the bartender that they should call it 'Taco after 5 PM Monday', but I gathered my Zen I let it go. We got to drink some very large beers though and eat free chips and salsa. Finally things were going our way.

3.
It was starting to get dark by the time we got back home and I made a beeline for the shower. I could still smell Finn's fluids on my hands despite having washed them twice. In the shower I bawled. I screamed. I kept yelling WHY and moaning Finn's name. So much had happened in the last 30 hours that in some ways it seemed a lifetime ago that Finn died. But the grief was certainly fresh. I stayed in the shower for a very long time hoping to scrub away all the memories and anguish. By this time the visions of the "I'm sorry but I think I have some bad news" woman, Finn lying in the road, his limp body, the stain, every last detail were coming in furious waves. I could not shut them out or slow their flow despite using every ounce of will I could muster. Getting out of the shower I slogged into the bedroom where Scott looked at me with deep concern. My shower outburst scared him. He suggested grief counseling but I told him that it's only been a day and I needed to be loud and sob and pound walls. I assured him I wasn't going insane, even though I wasn't so sure myself, and that these outbursts were a helpful release for me. Thankfully, he didn't press the issue.

Scott had to leave for a meeting of his rugby club. I was left alone in the house, a house which now felt empty and drab. The phone rang at 9:30. It was Finn's veterinarian. The receptionist had related to her my embarrassing scene at the clinic and she pulled Finn's file. She wanted to check on how I was doing but also seeing how young and healthy Finn was, was curious about how he died. She was kind and patient as I blubbered every sordid detail. I even told her about the tree and the truck. I was very touched by her call and need to make sure I tell her so next time I see her, hopefully not too soon.

I don't normally play video games but a few days before Finn died, I started playing one. It had a bunch of challenging levels that I found thoroughly enjoyable. I owe that game my sanity. I fired it up and played all night, finally getting some relief from the flood of memories and loneliness that was consuming me. I didn't even try to sleep until the sun was coming up on Tuesday. When Scott returned that night, I could tell he was starting to get a cold. I think bottling up emotions as he does really taxes the body leaving vulnerable to disease. I suspect this was the case now. He didn't sleep much either.

Scott is a tough one to read during times like these. He is a very funny person and maintains a even keel almost all of the time. But he is Irish and knows how to get really angry, "get his Irish up". His anger is never mean or violent, though and he usually has a good reason when he does get angry. He rarely shows sadness, even when I know he's feeling it.

When we met 27 years ago, I had a cat named Scarlet. I don't think he realized at the time that he was getting in with a cat fanatic. A coyote took Scarlet when I was doing a three-month internship in Tucson. I quickly adopted a six month-old kitten and that was Cholla, pronounced, “choy yah”. She was named after the Jumping Cholla cactus that grew all around my apartment. She had this funny trait where she would be sitting sit one moment and for no apparent reason she would just jump in the air. We were a one-cat family for many years in our home state of Minnesota.

Ten years later we found ourselves living in Los Angeles. One day a little wreck of a cat appeared by our house and I took him in. He was full of cuts and fleas. We got him fixed up and after a short time realized he had some neurological condition that would make him walk funny at times. It was pitiful and cute and made me love him more. He was only with us a few months before he got outside and we never saw him again. It seems we weren't meant to be his family. I was heartbroken. Cholla wasn't. She hated Rudy.

After the brief stint with Rudy, Scott saw how very sad I get when I lose a cat. He hadn't been in Tucson at the time I lost Scarlet. So he was more than reluctant to bring home a kitten he found in the gutter on the streets of Venice Beach. It was late and he spotted this tiny sickly creature that was clearly not going to make it on its own. He said he debated with himself before doing the only thing could, bring the kitten home to save, even though he knew the loss of Rudy was fresh and he was risking more heartbreak for me. He scooped up the terrified kitten that then peed on his leather jacket. When he walked in the door, he was still not sure he made the right decision when he saw me cuddle and coo and start this nonsense all over again.

Sean was only eight weeks old. He was very sick with some respiratory infection, worms, fleas and some crud in his ears. It was late at night so I put him in the bathroom with a cake pan full of cat litter. I put some flea killer on him and was stunned when I saw this fine dust of fleas fall into piles around him. The poor thing must have been miserable. He was still scared but took to my mothering right away. He quickly fell asleep in a grapefruit-sized ball by the toilet on a towel I laid down for him. When I woke the next morning, there were two little pee balls in the cake pan. I was in love.

Cholla hated Sean too. She was a big girl and seeing them eat next to each other during those first couple weeks was hilarious. He was so small, even for a kitten. His face was barely large enough to hold his giant eyes. His tail was huge and fluffy, far out of proportion to his body. It looked like one of those dusters that are sticks with big poofs on the end. Scott fell in love too and told me he couldn't wait to get home from work to see him. I never took any photos of Sean as a kitten and I've been kicking myself for it ever since. He grew so fast and I lost the chance at a great memento. Sean healed, got big and our family was complete. Even Cholla learned to tolerate his playful abuse.

About six years later we moved to Seattle, and four years after that we bought a house on the Kitsap Peninsula across the Puget Sound from Seattle. Just before we moved into our new home, I had acquired yet another cat. My mother who was getting up in years, decided to move back to Fargo from her home in Minnesota to be closer to her family. My mother was a bit of a shut-in so I had given her a cat about twelve years earlier as a birthday gift. The apartment she was going to move into didn't allow pets so I offered to fly her cat, Olivia, to Seattle and adopt her. Olivia was very old. We only had her a few precious months before her kidneys decided they wanted to retire. She made the move from Seattle to Kitsap but died shortly thereafter. I grieved then too as she was a sweet gentle creature that adapted quite well with us after so many years with my mother. But perhaps because she was already old and there wasn't sufficient time for deep bonding, the grief, while more painful than I thought it was going to be, was short-lived.

Olivia's death ushered in the year would change everything. Cholla was 18 by then and was already slowed down by arthritis and old age. She still loved life though and never gave up the chance to go outside and lay in a sunny patch of spearmint. Sean, now ten, still pestered her and she generally put up with it until she would give a hiss and he knew she had had enough. Around February, I could tell IT was happening when her waist started to shrink. Her build was big, so as it shrunk she started to look like she was wearing a girdle. She was still acting fine and enjoying life though. Months passed and she continued to shrink but still with little sign of pain or loss of energy. She still ran to the bowls at snack time.

Fall was approaching when I was working in the garden on a gorgeous sunny day. I went in the house for a drink and when I came back outside I saw this little black and white kitten running around our rhododendron bushes. I approached it and it ran away but then stopped short. It came back. I started towards it again and again it ran away and stopped short. This dance went on a bit longer when finally I gave up and decided to get back to the garden. I started walking away and it followed me. More dance. I finally sat down on a bench next to our fire pit and waited. The kitten came up to me and let me pet it. After that first pet it decided it really liked pets and proceeded to run all over me on my lap, at my feet, back on my lap, back at my feet. That's when I noticed he wasn't neutered. I went to the house to get him a snack, not sure if he would still be there when I returned. My departure after the love fest bothered him. We had to start all over again with the dance; approach, run away, stop short. I placed the can of food on the ground and walked away from it. He wasn't sure what to do but his nose must have caught a whiff of something delicious because within seconds he was all over that food. I couldn't believe how fast he devoured it. I got him another can and he ate that one too. He was starving.

I don't know if the kitten was too full to move or just decided I was safe, but he let me pick him up and bring him inside. As usual, this one had fleas and seemed relieved when I put the flea killer on him. Sean was curious and foolishly, I let him approach the kitten. He started to sniff this strange new creature in our home when, suddenly, the kitten hissed and smacked poor Sean on the face. Sean is a very gentle cat. He is the classic baby who loves his mommy type and wants nothing more than to cuddle with me any chance he gets. I was relieved when no fight ensued. Sean just backed away from the kitten and with his giant eyes looked at me as if to say, "Why in the world did he do that?" Scott wasn't home but phoned and I gave him the bad news. Yes, your wife just took in another one. He wasn't happy. Scott is fond of grumbling his favorite cat adage, "There shouldn't be any more cats than there are humans in a household," especially after a cat has done something very naughty. I just broke the rule.

I got the kitten to the vet the next day and was stunned to hear that he was a full grown adult male, probably around two years old. He was so small, in part because that was just how he was made, but also because he was severely malnourished. Within a few weeks he put on a lot of weight and we had him neutered. His body caught up with his head, which was disproportionately huge when I first encountered him. He fell into step with our household quickly, with Sean teaching him the ropes about snack time ("She feeds us a special snack promptly at 4 PM everyday. Don't blow this for us."), and Cholla letting him know what the quick hiss meant when she had enough of his attempts to play. Scott named him Finn McCool after whom Scott inaptly calls the Irish Paul Bunyan. This Irish mythological figure is a giant. When we told Scott's Irish aunt Finn's name, she said in her lovely brogue, "Oh heeel hahv to groh ah laht beegger thahn thaht."

I knew Cholla's days were numbered. She wasn't eating as much but still ran to the snack bowl if only out of habit. I was glad that Sean had a new friend and had time to adapt to Finn before he lost Cholla. She had been there virtually his whole life and before Finn arrived, I was concerned how he would handle being alone. Finn was nothing but pure energy and constantly wanted to play. He breathed new life into Sean. Sometimes it was too much for Sean though, payback for all the guff he put poor old Cholla through. Almost daily, Finn was whacked in the head by Sean. Cholla died the day before Thanksgiving and we were now at Scott's acceptable cat-to-human ratio again.

Around this time, there was a lot of work-related stress in our lives and the burdens of homeownership were becoming known. But still, we were enjoying the new house after so many years of apartment life. The home we chose is on a rustic acre with lots of pine trees, and the previous owner had planted fruit trees, rhododendrons, and camellias. The latent gardener in me was unleashed. I spent a lot of time outside and Finn was never far. He loved being with me in the gardens and would be very naughty by digging up freshly planted vegetables before I even had the chance to stand up. I never got mad at him. Finn was just being Finn and I could only smile, shake my head and replant.

Finn knew his name and would come tearing at full speed from wherever he was when called. He loved being called because he knew that he was going to get pets and maybe even some new adventure could be awaiting him. When we would go outside he'd rush to us and squirm between our legs until he was picked up placed on shoulders for a tour around the yard. He climbed everything. One year we had a tall ladder leaning against the house to clean our roof. He quickly learned to fly up and down that ladder and would get overly excited when we joined him on the roof. It's cold and wintry out now. I suspect next summer will be rather joyless.

4.
After getting through Monday badly, I had to wake up to endure Tuesday. Detached Me was gone and I was forced to go on alone. The grief was growing. I ached inside. I started bargaining with God, who I decided to believe in, at least for the moment, because I needed someone with power to make a deal with. I begged God reset everything back to the way it was. I gave him some great ideas. "Make this a dream and when I wake up, you make me remember that I promised to stop all sinning or else you'll take away Finn". I promised all sorts of things short of becoming a nun. I would also close my eyes very tightly and yell "WAKE UP!" assuming this had to be a vivid, terrible nightmare. Nothing was working. I kept seeing the white flashes outside through the window and reflexively would look for Finn. I accidentally called my other cat's Finn. This was getting ugly.

The squirrels made it worse. Shortly after we moved into our house, Scott started feeding a couple squirrels raw peanuts off the deck. Squirrels would come and go but there were a few that were daily visitors for a few years. One we called Baby. She was small and only had half a tail. She loved taking peanuts out of our hands, and jumped in our laps if we ignored her too long. When Scott first started feeding these squirrels I was concerned he was signing their death warrants with Finn around. My fears were unfounded. He loved the squirrels, especially Baby. They would greet him at the door when I let him out. They would touch noses and the squirrels would ask him for peanuts. Sometimes he would chase them off the deck, but the squirrels weren't afraid. It was just play. They would immediately return for peanuts scurrying right past Finn on the way back to the door.

Sean would go outside on occasion but would mostly just sit on the deck. He just looked at the squirrels while they ran around him, over him and even under him. I have videos of these cats and the squirrels just hanging out on the deck together. After four years, I'm still amazed by it. Before Joey and Linc moved in, they had been living outside and I knew they probably hunted to stay alive. I was very concerned, especially about the expert hunter Linc, about how they were going to deal with the easy prey that sometimes wandered in our house in their quest for peanuts. In those first days I could see in their body language their predatory impulses when the squirrels came near. But Finn would chase these new cats away to protect his squirrel friends, who seemed oblivious to the danger. Very quickly the new housemates adopted Finn's acceptance of the squirrels and then all four cats interacted with squirrels in the same way as Finn.

But now, Baby was gone. She just stopped showing up one day. And Finn was gone too. The realization that I would never get to see Finn and his squirrels again was too much to bear.

Scott texted a friend about Finn's death and I received a short email from him expressing his condolences. He then wrote a few more times with suggestions on how to deal with the tree. I couldn't understand how he could bother me with that tree when I suffering so much. He made no more mention of Finn after his first email. I know he couldn't know what I was going through but I was wound tight and everything was setting me off. His emails angered me. I replied that we were too depressed to deal with the tree and that was the end of it. He wrote a couple more times about other non-Finn things. I know in my heart he didn't mean to hurt me by appearing to brush aside my grief. He and his wife are dog people. I am probably wrong, but I've always suspected that dog people don't think grief over the loss of a cat could ever match the loss over a dog. My friend is a good man though and like I said, my clouded perceptions were making him out to be an insensitive lout when I know he is not.

Scott and I weren't eating well. On Sunday we ate a little canned spaghetti sauce and noodles. Monday was chips and salsa at 'Taco Monday'. Tuesday was macaroni and cheese. Real cooking was just too much work. The dishes were piling up in the sink because we were too lazy to empty the dishwasher. Living in the woods brings a lot of dirt into the house and I usually sweep a little every day to keep it under control. Pushing the broom was not in the cards now. The house was getting dirty. I'm a very neat person, a clean freak in Scott's eyes. I just didn't care anymore.

I emailed my best friend who lives in Minnesota and told her about Finn. She is a very sensitive person and she wrote me a much needed email of support. The last time I saw her, she was out for a visit at our house. I remember we had started to go for a walk to get some exercise. We headed to the road, the same evil one Finn where met his fate. Finn caught sight of us, ran over and started to follow us. I coaxed him back in the yard and we headed out again. We got a little further this time and thought we lost him, but he appeared again. He insisted on following us. I told Kathy that I didn't want him to get the idea that the road was okay to be on so before we got much beyond the driveway, we headed back to the house. Naturally he followed. We then tried to walk in the woods just off our property behind our lot but he followed us there too. It was critical to him that he not miss out on any new adventures with the humans. So we gave up on the walk and we all went back to the safety of our yard. That whole memory seems like an ironic, cruel foreshadowing of the events of two days before.

The sobbing continued throughout the day along with the unrelenting replays of Sunday. I ended up playing that video game the entire day, as it was the only thing that provided some relief. Scott and I barely talked. He was getting tired of my bawling. When the evening came, I crawled into bed and continued my game. Playing this game was becoming an obsession but it was better than facing my grief. Scott went to the local pub to meet a friend, got drunk and returned home late. He was upset. During the long walk home from his binge, he was hit with grief. He came in the bedroom crying a little and finally talked about some of the feelings he was having. We both cried together and held each other in our bed.

Bedtime is very sad now. Every night, Finn would jump up, sit on a sleeping Sean's head and try start a wrestling session. This would invariably end in Sean hissing and whacking Finn in the face. After that, Finn would approach Scott's left shoulder, stare at the blanket and wait. This was Scott's cue to lift the blanket and let him crawl under it so he could settle between Scott's legs and go to sleep. At times, this could be inconvenient if say, Scott was working on his laptop or we were snuggling. But we always gave into Finn because that was the 'routine, of course'. And we coined that word for this nightly event. Finn's Routine.

5.
Wednesday marked the third day of life without Finn. I finally felt a little better. I was able to make my coffee without crying which I thought was progress. Linc was starting to show some distress over Finn's absence. Linc is a big black cat. When I say black I mean jet black. Cholla was mostly black but she seemed lighter. Linc is so dark we many times can't see him lying on the couch or sleeping on blanket of the floor and Scott and I have both sat and stepped on him a few times.

A couple years ago and about a two years after Finn wandered into our lives, this huge tabby started showing up on our deck. He would just sit there and stare through the sliding glass door into our living room. He would watch Finn and Sean intently. He was a striking, handsome cat. This became a daily event, sometimes several times a day. He would even show up at three in the morning. He was skittish though and each time I tried to touch him or even approach him, he would bolt. This went on for a month or more. Soon after, I started seeing this black cat wandering around, usually at the same time the tabby was present. He was even more skittish.

Winter came on strong and one day it started snowing. It snowed hard and left two feet of snow on the ground. This was somewhat unusual for our area, but not unheard of. By now I had started leaving a little food out for the two mystery cats. But they still wouldn't get anywhere near me. These cats were clearly homeless, showing up at all hours and the black one in particular was looking very thin. The snowy cold weather forced me to take action. When the tabby was eating on the stoop, I left the door open. By now he had gotten used to me sitting on the other side of the glass door watching him while he ate. I waited for my big moment. Catching him off guard, I grabbed him by the nape of his neck and pulled him in. He was not happy. This was a large, heavy cat and carrying him upstairs by the nape was no easy task for me. But I didn't want to get bit and it was the safest way to do it. I placed him in the spare bedroom with some food, water and a litter box. He ran under the bed. I stayed with him a while, cooing at him under the bed trying to comfort him. This was a waste of time since he was terrified. I left the light on and went to bed.

The next night, the black one showed up and I was able to do my same fancy maneuver with him. Hoping they wouldn't kill each other, I placed him in the same room as the tabby. He ran under the bed too. I never saw much of them for those first couple of days as they preferred to remain in hiding. But they were eating the food and using the litter box. Eventually the tabby came out and let me give him a little pet. It took a couple more days for the black one. I didn't want to imprison them in the bedroom for so long, but the temperature outside, especially at night, had become bitter cold. Temporary imprisonment seemed preferable to freezing to death. I took photos of both and started my quest find their owners. They were becoming quite friendly now and didn't seem to mind their predicament. The black one put weight on quickly and looked much healthier. I posted the photos on craigslist, monitored lost pet bulletin boards in stores and the nearby vet clinic. I eventually took them to see if they were micro-chipped, which they were not. I finally gave up.

I had no intention of keeping these cats. Scott would never allow a cat-to-human ratio of 2! After about two weeks, I could see they were starting to get upset by being locked up for so long despite a warm bed and a fully belly. The weather had improved and the snow was melted so I let them back outside. Once out, they bolted and I doubted I would see them again. That's gratitude for you, I thought. But at least they were alive and healthier than before their ordeal, giving them a better chance at survival "on the streets". Or so I thought. The tabby was back that night and when I opened the door, he knew exactly where the spare bedroom was and headed straight for it. I was doomed. In the days that followed, I saw the black one often and fed him at the stoop. He wasn't keen on coming back in so quickly. So the tabby moved in. We named him Joey. Scott was not happy.

Spring came and the black cat was always around. He rarely went in the house but hung out in our yard with Joey and Finn every day. His face reminded me of the actor Clarence Williams III who played Linc on the TV show Mod Squad and so Linc became his name. Scott wasn't keen about a fourth cat, but it was tolerable at least, since Linc stayed outside. One day I noticed a small growth on Linc's neck and over the next few days, it grew walnut-sized. Scott and I were about to take a week long vacation and I didn't want to leave Linc alone that long with that growth. The day before we were due to leave, I took him to the vet and he ended up staying there the whole week to treat an abscess. When we returned from our trip and I picked up a healed Linc, it was obvious he was happy to see me. Something changed in his mind during that week and he made the decision to be a house cat. While still going outside much of the day, from that point on he wanted to be in the house with us. Scott was not happy again. But faced with the choice of divorce or acceptance of a cat-to-human ratio of 2, he grudgingly settled for the larger family.

I recently learned through chatting with a neighbor what I had suspected. Joey and Linc were always housemates. It seems a guy living further down the evil road had these cats. According to my neighbor, this guy supposedly loved them but his wife didn't, and after the birth of their child, she decided the cats had to go. He simply put them outside, leaving out food and never allowed them in the house again. He did this just before winter and that's when they started showing up at our house. Abandoning helpless creatures to face the dead of winter, those who at one time you assumed responsibility for and supposedly cared about is unforgivable. Finding them new homes or even dropping them off at a no-kill shelter was an option. I had to assume he stopped putting out food regularly, maybe due to raccoons, based on how emaciated Linc had been. In my opinion, this guy was in the same category as the 'person' with the bumper sticker.

Linc and Finn were always vying for supremacy, alpha male status. When Linc first arrived they got into some pretty nasty fights. Surprisingly, Finn, who was half Linc's size, always fared better. As the months passed, they started tolerating each other and even touched noses at snack time. The only time that they would really go at it was when they surprised the each other. Cats like to follow humans into the bathroom and mine are no different. When Linc would go in with me, Finn was always waiting to attack him as soon as he stepped outside the door. I think this became a pleasant ritual for both of them.

After three days of not seeing Finn, Linc was starting to show some signs of anxiety. It was still morning when I was in the living room and I heard him meow loudly. I went to the hall and saw him staring at the bathroom door that we usually keep closed. I let him in and he wandered around a bit and then just sat down the rug. He then stretched his neck to try and see outside the door. I told him that Finn wasn't there. Eventually he came out. After that incident, I heard him meow like that in other places throughout the house. Sean and Joey didn't seem affected much at all except maybe Sean who was requiring more cuddling than normal. I sensed it was more he wanting to make me feel better than any distress over Finn's absence. His extra attention was a welcome comfort.

Wednesday afternoon Scott and I decided to take advantage of a $10 off coupon at a brewpub we like. We had a tolerable dinner. Food in general wasn’t tasting very good, but at least we were eating a decent amount that day. We hit another brewpub after dinner and I got pretty drunk. We bumped into a friend at the second pub and talked for hours. I actually felt a little normal, doing normal life things with a night out and my grief eased. I slept alone on the couch that night in front of the fire. It was probably the alcohol but I was able to finally stop mind from playing the tapes of Finn's death and fell into a much needed deep sleep.

6.
Thursday was bad. I was nursing a hangover and my grieving mind felt the need to play catch-up from the respite of the night before. I was seeing Finn everywhere. I ached to see his perfect little body, to touch him, to smell his musk. I continued to slip up calling the other cats Finn. I needed Scott to retrieve the mail to avoid the path to the evil road where Finn died. Linc was worse. I caught him sitting on the window staring outside while meowing softly. When I called out the door to Joey to come inside, Linc raced to the deck and craning his neck in an odd manner, scanned the yard back and forth with an air of desperation. I know he was looking for Finn. More crying.

I started surfing the Internet about grief and pet grief in particular. I learned that these waves work like this. One day you think you are getting better, and the next you fall back to what feels like square one. In my search I came upon a website dedicated to pet grief support. It had a forum where people can share their stories about the loss of their hairy children. I spent hours reading posts from people who were as miserable as I was. Some of these were long threads that covered several months as the grieving process unfolded. I was surprised that there seemed to be just as many men as women describing the same level of despair I was feeling. One would think reading all this stuff would be depressing but it wasn't. These stories touched me, gave me strength and I didn't feel so alone anymore. I registered for an account so I could post about Finn. I was still in pain and my mind wasn't cooperating so I didn't write anything that day. But knowing I was going to forced me to ponder what I was going to write.

Soon, the horrid flood of memories started to finally ease as my mental energy became refocused on this new task.
Scott and I stayed in that night. I wasn't crying as much now. I read more about dealing with grief and played my video game. Scott worked on his computer and for that evening, we almost looked normal, just hanging out in our living room with the three cats sleeping around us. Still not able to muster energy to cook, we ordered a take-out pizza and a salad. Dishes continued to pile up. That night, sleep was fitful.

7.
Friday was my birthday. Scott and I have never made a big deal out of our birthdays. His falls two weeks before mine, and Valentines Day falls in between. We tend to pick a day in February and celebrate all three at once. Failing the opportunity to plan something before Finn died meant this year there would be no day of celebration.
A pile of emails drifted in all day wishing me a happy birthday. Most who wrote had no idea about Finn. One thing about the Internet is that now people can store the birthdays of every friend, relative, or person they've ever met. They get an automatic reminder so they can draft e-card or simply click a button to send a birthday wish without having to write anything. Most of the emails I got were the automated one line, "Happy Birthday Connie!" from people I never see but were kind enough to include me in their birthday database. A few actually wrote messages that took some thought. I know I sound petty. I do appreciate that my friends wished me a happy birthday. But as they came in I just didn't care. It all just seemed so absurd. How could I possibly have a happy birthday? Since I couldn't get the birthday gift I wanted, to have my Finn back, I decided to give myself one day of pettiness instead.

I finally finished my video game. It was a satisfying feeling mastering all the levels, but now I needed a new one. I was afraid to be left alone with my thoughts for too long and required a new diversion. I tried a few I found online but I hated them all. I realized that I was becoming very angry. I was angry at everything, the weather, the dishes, the automated birthday emails. Scott wasn't home most of the day and he dodged a bullet because I'm certain I would've found a reason to be angry at him too. I had been thinking of what I was going to post on the pet grief support forum but couldn't quite reach the escape velocity to get started. I wonder now if I was afraid to open that door. I had spent all week trying to suppress thoughts about Finn's death and even his life. Writing would force them back out. Would I be able to handle it?

Evening came and I ran out of games to try and got sick of hours of meaningless web surfing. With no excuses left, I opened up a text editor and started writing my post. I was surprised at how easy it was. Almost immediately, the words came flooding out ‘on paper’ just as the memories and pain had flooded my mind all week. I wrote for hours. The writing was getting too long for a forum post but I didn't care. I kept writing. Eventually I felt I had finished and was spent. It was after midnight in Seattle and even later in Minnesota but I didn't care. On impulse, I phoned my friend Kathy. I knew she would be awake. She knew I needed her and this wasn't the first late night call for support we've had in our 30-year friendship. We chewed up a lot of cell minutes, talking for hours about Finn and everything else.

During our conversation a memory came up from when I was six years old. My aunt, uncle and cousins drove to Minneapolis from Fargo, and stayed with us for a few days to attend the state fair. My little cousin was five and his brother a young teenager. I don't recall what day it was into their visit, we had already been to the fair, but something remarkable happened. I remember being outside in the front yard when out of nowhere the older cousin came running down the street and went to the back yard where the family was having a barbeque. Within seconds all my family members came running past me and headed back down the street. Their faces looked strange. I followed. I thought they were playing a game and laughed. I never saw adults run like that before. As I approached, I saw them looking down on the road at something. Getting very close I saw it was my little cousin with no head. I mean he had a head, but it was completely smashed and unrecognizable. I saw a van parked there with two kids around my age crying with their hands plastered against the window. Someone grabbed me and dragged me away. I learned later that my cousins had taken my and my sister's bicycles, something they were prohibited to do, and decided to sneak a ride around the block. My young cousin lost control on our busy street and was struck by the van.

I strongly recall the reactions of the adults and the horror on their faces. I didn't have any reaction really. I wasn't sad over losing my cousin or even appalled by the gruesome image. I think was too young and didn't yet have the emotional development to grasp what was happening. I was much more curious about the adults behavior than the tragedy of the accident. People from the neighborhood started coming over and everyone was crying. My uncle shaved off his prized handlebar mustache. He looked so different. They went home the next day. As I grew older, I developed this phobic dread of losing someone to a car accident. I suppose I didn't want to experience whatever it was I saw the faces of those adults. It sounds silly but recalling this experience with Kathy made me consider that somehow Finn's tragedy was God's punishment for not reacting or feeling properly all those years ago, answering the 'Why Finn' question at last. But I decided to dismiss this theory. I had given this mean God too much power already in Finn's death and it was time to be an atheist again.

It was around 2 AM when I finally lumbered upstairs to bed. Scott was already tucked in. I felt good. I mean it. The writing was more cathartic than I imagined it could be and talking to Kathy, the friend who understands me more than anyone, rescued my birthday. I slept pretty well.

8.
Today is Saturday. Scott had to leave early this morning to do some research for a new business venture so I was left alone. I noticed that my morning coffee was much less painful. The ever-present loss of Finn was still there but its pain reduced to a dull ache. I was anxious to get back on my laptop to start writing again. I wrote all day. I didn't get out of my pjs until the cat's snack time. Feeling energized, I took a break from writing in the afternoon and cleaned up all the dishes. This made me feel even better. Linc didn't do anything odd today, except maybe sleep bit more than usual. Maybe he is sensing my improved spirits or maybe his grief is also easing. I did have a couple of cries but they weren't the uncontrollable sobs they had been all week. I know now that I am riding a good wave and plenty of bad ones are still coming but I don't fear them as much now. I was even able to start looking at photos and videos of Finn. At first this was hard but I really wanted to see him again and my writing will require images.

It's 2 AM now (officially Sunday, one week later) and I'm lying on my less crowded bed. Next to me poor Scott is in the throes of a terrible cold. He's miserable. Once his body heals, I think we'll need to have some conversations to help heal his spirit, if he's willing. By getting so sick so soon, I'm not sure he's had the strength to earnestly start the process of grieving our Finn. We'll also have to deal with that stupid tree.

Tomorrow will be Sunday, one week from the day I carried Finn's limp little body back home and died with him, at least a part of me anyway. I may go and visit Finn and Cholla by the garden shed. I don't know. I'll see how I feel. They aren't going anywhere and there's no need to rush it. I hope to keep up with this journal for a while longer, at least until I'm certain the future grief waves will be manageable. Whether or not I do, spending the last 36 hours minus sleep time recording the thoughts and events of the last seven days will be one of most rewarding gifts Finn has given me. It will never be worth the terrible price but I feel I will be a more understanding friend to those who may experience a similar event.

I love you, Little Man, and miss you beyond words. I'll probably go downstairs and have a cry now, but for the first time this week, I think maybe I'm going to be okay.

Hi ConnieJ,
I am so sorry to read about the loss of your Finn, and Cholla too. What a beautiful tribute to your fur kids. This forum is amazing, I'm so glad you found your way here. The people here are all going through a tragic loss and know exactly what you are going through. They are the most caring, compassionate and supportive group of people you will ever "meet".
This is a great place to talk about your feelings, your emotional upheavals, your sense of loss and grief. It doesn't matter how long it takes, someone will always be here to offer you comfort.
I did something very similar to you when my cat, Catzilla had to be put to sleep 6 months ago. I wrote a ten page tribute to him (but no one has seen this but me), I posted a slide show on You Tube, and I put together a photo album of all my fur kids. It was my way of dealing with the grief and loss and helped tremendously. This journey through grief is different for each of us. Do what ever you have to do to get yourself through it.
I offer my thoughts and sympathies to you and hope you find a way to heal and find happiness again. Give extra love and pets to Sean, Linc, and Joey. They miss Finn too.
CatMom

Thanks CatMom for your kind words and for taking the time to read my long story. I fear I abused the system with such a long post. But I'm hoping that anyone that is in the first seven days of their grief, especially one who may have lost a pet so unexpectedly and violently can know and take comfort that they are not alone. That is what this forum for me and I don't know how I would've coped without it. I'm better now and continue to improve. I didn't visit Finn's grave on Sunday. It was too soon. But he's here with me anyway, every moment.

Catzilla, what an adorable name!

Hi ConnieJ,

I'm so sorry for the loss of your beautiful Finn. From reading your post, it's clear that he was a magnificant kitty. What's also clear is your beautiful love and adoration of him. ConnieJ, this continues long after they have physically left us. In fact, it never goes. Losing a beloved companion is one of the most difficult things we can go through, and we have to learn to adjust to the absence of their physical presence, and open our minds to the fact that a part of them is still here with us, and always will be -- forever etched in our hearts and memories.

Take care of yourself,
Cheryl x

Hi, Connie, please permit me to offer you my sincerest sympathies in the loss of your beloved Finn. Losing a beloved companion is never easy regardless of the circumstances or how long we have been blessed with the privilege of their company. Losing a beloved companion due to tragic circumstances, however, does compound the grief.

Thank you so much for sharing your journal of Finn's earthly journey with you and your husband. In no way did you "abuse" the system by posting your journal. It is important for you to know that we share your joy in having Finn in your life, and your deep sorrow in losing his special physical presence. And thank you so much for sharing with us a picture of your precious Finn - - what a handsome lad he is!!

Connie, one of the many important things for you to remember is that you are not alone in your grief journey. This is a very difficult "adjustment" that can only be traveled one day at a time, sometimes a one minute at a time. There are so many ups and downs, twists and turns and turnarounds in this grief journey. Just when you begin to think that the worst part is over with something can come along that can bring you to your knees with the deepest of sorrow as if it is the first moment that your precious companion has joined the angels. We are here for you for as long and as often as you need us, Connie. We are here for you, with you, and beside you every step of your journey.

And please know you are in my thoughts and prayers, Connie, and will look forward to knowing how you're doing whenever possible.

Peace and blessings,
moon_beam

okay... bad day..

I've been fine... I thought I was over the hump. Maybe it's been triggered by all the sadness coming out of Japan, I don't know. Huge wave of grief is hitting me right now. It's been almost 4 weeks. When will this horror stop?

I can't stop crying. I miss my Finn so bad right now. I don't know what to do. Does it ever get better? I just want him back so bad. It's so unfair. I feel like I'm going crazy. I'm so mad at the Fates for taking my baby. I can't think. I can't eat. This just sucks big time. @@$^@#$^@#@$^!!! What a rotten @#$^@#@#$^! day.

conniej

addendum....

after i posted my grief, i read over some other posts by others suffering loss.... and posted to others in the same boat.

thanks again to this forum for keeping me sane.. onwards and upwards

... i love you Little Man and I feel like I'm dying half the time with my aching to have you back..."

but I'm not alone and that means a lot.

Hi ConnieJ,

Thinking back to when I was at your stage of the grieving process, I can completely relate to how you're feeling. I even started a thread titled: "Just when I thought I was doing better... I hate this painful cycle, hurting so much right now." Unfortunately, that's what grief is. A cycle. An emotional rollercoaster of okay-days, bad-days, and I-actually-feel-like-I-could-curl-up-and-die-days. Sometimes you manage to have some control over the tears; yet at others you feel like they will never end.

Well, I'm 10 months down the line now, and I can tell you that it DOES get better. Slowly, over time, you will start to find that the "goodish" days start to outnumber the bad days. I don't think we will ever just "get over" losing our babies. But we will slowly begin to adjust to the realization that they are now with the angels; but that a part of them is still with us, and will be with us forever and always. The love you feel in your heart will never die -- infact it just gets stronger. And I truly believe that one day we will be re-united with them for all eternity.

Take care of yourself, and please know that you're not alone. We are with you during the ups and downs, and the twists and turns.

Cheryl xx

Thanks Cheryl. You're a beautiful person and your kind words really help. I can't wait to see him again.

Connie

Hi, Connie, I cannot think of anything better to say than the wonderful, compassionate, comforting thoughts Cheryl has already shared with you. I just want you to know that I, along with Cheryl and all the other wonderful friends on this forum, are here for you, with you, and beside you - - through the difficult days, through the better days, and through the dark nights when the ache in your heart seems unrelenting.

Connie, thank you for letting us know how you're doing, please know you're in my thoughts and prayers, and please let us know how things are going for you.

Peace and blessings,
moon_beam

Hi Connie,
Please accept my deepest condolences on the loss of your precious Finn. I hope the pain is beginning to subside a bit for you and your husband. This is such a difficult road to travel but thank goodness for this site, since we don’t have to travel it alone. I completely understand the degree of pain you feel over the loss of Finn. It was clear from reading your story that you had one of those rare connections with him, which makes it so much more difficult to let go. Join that with his young age and the sudden passing and it’s overwhelming. There is absolutely no time to even try to prepare for such an event.

I wish there were a way to remove your pain and allow you to only feel the joy you experienced when Finn was with you. Please know that you have been and will continue to be in my heart and thoughts, wishing for your pain to ease and for you to find peace. Also, please accept my apology for taking so long to offer you support. I read your story several days ago and there were several points in your story I wanted to comment on. I just didn’t have the energy or time to write what I wanted. Now, I’m not comfortable with how much time has gone by since I first read your post but still don’t have the time or emotional energy to properly respond. I’m still trying to cope with the loss of my beloved Peggy and have been working an excessive number of hours. Please know that I’m thinking of you and am sending you a cyber-hug of comfort.

Please take care of yourself.

Peggy

Hi Connie My condolences. I understand your pain. I am still at that stage of crying and asking why. I know how it hurts it is so difficult. Finn sounds like her was a wonderful guy. May you & yours heal. Finn will always be part of you and will be in your heart. It will get better.

PeggysHuman,

you wrote:
"Also, please accept my apology for taking so long to offer you support. I read your story several days ago and there were several points in your story I wanted to comment on. I just didn’t have the energy or time to write what I wanted. Now, I’m not comfortable with how much time has gone by since I first read your post but still don’t have the time or emotional energy to properly respond. I’m still trying to cope with the loss of my beloved Peggy and have been working an excessive number of hours."

Please don't feel that way. I read your story too and there are no rule or obligations here. I know we both understand to a very deep level what both of us are feeling and believe me, that is a huge comfort that words can never express.

By the way, I just wanted to let others know what a wonderful thing Finn's veterinarian did. Two days ago I received a box in the mail. It was an engraved monument to Finn. It's a lovely rock with a sweet little pawprint on it with the words, "In loving memory, Finn". It seems my vet clinic peeps pooled their money and bought this for us. They deal with life and death and pet parents every day and I know they don't do that for everyone. They knew how much Finn meant to Scott and me and were so kind and generous to do such a thing. Naturally we both cried when we saw it, but it was a combination of missing Finn and the feeling of the blessing of that wonderful clinic's staff in supporting us. We were very touched. Veterinarians and vet clinic staff are some of our world's unsung heroes.

I also for the first time in a month was able to get my mail. I've made poor Scott get it for the last four weeks because I simply couldn't walk that same path where I dashed to find little Finn on the evil road.

So again, onwards and upwards.

"I love you Little Man...."

ConnieJ

Connie How sweet of the people at the clinic to get you that monument! Glad to hear you were able to get the mail. Little by little we heal but never forget our loved one.

Hi, Connie, thank you so much for letting us know how you're doing, and for sharing with us the wonderful compassionate kindness your veterinary staff did for you in loving memory of your precious Finn. I know you will cherish this keepsake.

I know how you feel about walking the same path that led you to your precious Finn. It is absolutely understandable that you would want to avoid it. I know how much courage it took for you to walk that path once again - - for different tragic reasons and circumstances. I know it wasn't easy for you, Connie. You should be proud of yourself, as I know your precious Finn is very proud of you.

Connie, it's the small victories that mount up almost unseen from one hour to the next, from one day to the next, that eventually brings us to a time - - when we least expect it - - when we have reached a point in our grief journey where the pain is not quite so intense because of our cherished memories that we can once again embrace. Even the "yellow brick road" had it's scarey places, as does our grief journey. Please know we are with you, Connie, sharing your journey with you.

Please know you are in my thoughts and prayers, Connie, and look forward to knowing how you're doing.

Peace and blessings,
moon_beam