This was actually written at midnight about 20 hours ago, but is as true now as it was then.

12:05 am

Yesterday was the day that I had dreaded for so long, cried about in anticipation for so long. The first pet loss I have ever suffered. Five hours and 10 minutes ago my cat Tabby passed away. He was just over 14.5 years old. Unlike my other cat and my dog, I saw Tabby come into the world. He was strong with excellent cat instincts and I was so sure that he would out-live the other two. He was my baby, with baby-ish qualities and baby-ish sounds, and sought attention and affection with a stubbornness that bordered on annoying.

How I loved him. I thought that after my other beloved pets passed, I would sit at my desk and pet him well into his crotchety old age. 14 years hardly seems fair.

He suffered from intestinal cancer earlier this year and it has been 5 months of pills and syringe feedings and tests. He got a little better but has since gotten worse. He developed acute kidney failure and crashed over the past few weeks. We tried various antibiotics while keeping him on painkillers but he kept getting worse and worse. By the last few days, he could barely walk – he was so wobbly. He hasn’t gotten decent rest in a couple of weeks – he spent a lot of time staring into nowhere but not getting much sleep. In the last few days he had gotten so bad that he did not even have the energy to drink water, though he clearly wanted it. I had to syringe it into his mouth. So I had to make THE decision, and it kills me still.

I don't know if I made it too early or too late. It felt like time in my heart but I wish that Tabby could tell me it was the right time, that it was okay. Now I am only left with my grief.

Guilt: What if I had noticed the changes faster and realized something else was up? What if I could have fixed him if I kept fighting and not given up?

Depression: I miss him so much and I wish with all my heart that I had more time with him. I wish I had spent more time with him when he was well and cherished that time more. I wish I had been less preoccupied with my own life and focused on him more.

Denial: I have already looked under my bed a few times now in hopes of seeing him since I have returned. I looked into his eyes as he passed away, and yet I still hope. I think to myself, what if the injection did not kill him and he wakes up alone in the vet’s office or when he is being cremated? What if I am not there to protect him and keep him safe? I try and talk myself out of that fear – I was there for almost 10 minutes after he passed and looked for breathing, for a heartbeat. He lost control of his bowels and pooped a little as he died. Surely these are all signs, and yet I still think what if?

Anger: I hate the disease that killed him, whatever it was. I hate myself for not being able to stop it. I don’t hate him. I could not. He did his best and it was not his fault he could not keep up his spirits at the end.

Bargaining: What I would give for a few minutes with the old Tabby, before he was sick. I miss him so much. I begged God to make him better and He did not – I don’t know how to feel about that because it wasn't really God's fault and I'm not even sure He exists. I would give anything to go back a few hours and kiss Tabby one more time, pet him one more time, nuzzle him one more time.

The one stage I haven’t seemed to hit yet is acceptance. Granted it has been less than 6 hours. But I miss him so much. It’s hard to imagine a time when I will ever be okay with it. One day, when I have reached the acceptance stage and my other pets have passed, I will adopt a cat that maybe no one really wants and does not have much of a chance. He/she will be older, maybe with a disease like FIV that requires more care, but still needs love as much as any other creature. And I will love him/her in honour of Tabby. I will protect them and care for them and make them happy and safe in honour of Tabby. I will pass on the wonderful love that I hold for Tabby, his legacy for being so incredible and wonderfully irritating, and I will tell that cat about his/her wonderful big brother and they will love Tabby too, if only by proxy. Tabby deserves all the love in the world.

I miss my Tabby.

Maigrey,

I'm so sorry to hear about the loss of your sweet kitty, Tabby. What a beautiful boy he is. I lost my two kitties, Joe (age 20) and Steve (age 15) just five weeks ago, so I know what you're going through. The cycle of grief seems to cycle and cycle and cycle. Thankfully, we do get to a place where the pain isn't quite as intense, but it's so hard now. During the first week after my babies passed, I cried so hard that I almost couldn't breathe sometimes. I was really sad about both of them, but like you, I felt like it wasn't fair to lose Steve at 15. He was such an adventurer. Always so strong, playful, and busy, so when he went into kidney failure, it just didn't make any sense. I expected him to live at least as long as Joe did.

As I read through your stages of grief, I was reminded of so many things I have posted in the last five weeks and the things I have thought about. The questions about whether it was the right time to make the "decision." The fear that maybe they weren't really dead when they were cremated. The guilt of wondering why I hadn't noticed something sooner so I could have done something for them sooner. The longing to go back in time to the day before, the month before, the year before just to have more time.

I have done a lot of crying in the last five weeks (pretty much everyday), obsessed over ways to memorialize and remember them. I decided to be okay with this sadness and just live with it for a while in order to honor them and to help myself work through it all. If it's any encouragement at all, I'm in a much better place today than I have been in the past weeks. I still feel this big hole in my heart, but I'm doing better. I don't have to remind myself to drink water and eat and get up and move. I still miss them desperately, but I can tell I'm healing, slowly, but healing.

All this to say, it will happen for you, too. Just give yourself time. I love that you want to honor Tabby by taking in an old and/or sick cat in the future. It speaks so highly of your love for Tabby, your love for furry ones, and your fearlessness to go through grief again. I think you'll find, as you travel through this dark tunnel of grief, that you'll gain a strength you never knew you had before and when you approach the light at the end of that tunnel, you will be able to move on to those beautiful things you want to do to help other animals.

This forum has been such a great help to me, so I encourage you to stick around a while. Reading the stories of others' grief journeys is so helpful and inspiring. I think you'll find that, too. You will also find that the people on this forum are so willing to reach out and support you as you go through this process.

I hope you'll have a restful evening.

CritzyJ

Thank you CritzyJ for your kind words. Now I find myself with a different kind of guilt.

I have always been very adaptable and, I think, fairly strong. Either that or I have a incredibly powerful sense of denial. Either way, I am capable of trying to move on, of finding the joys in life again. But I can't. I don't want to. To go on with life would mean somehow that I don't miss him anymore. That I am not broken-hearted. That he is gone.

His litterbox is still underneath my bed, from the last times he was strong enough to use it before he was too weak to move. It holds paw prints frozen in kitty litter and 2 small clumps of urine. I can't make myself move it or clean it up. It holds the actual proof that he was really here.

My heart is that litterbox, my pain his pawprints. If I clean up my heart and move past my pain, then it would be like he was never here and my love for him was never here. My pain right now is the tangible proof in my body that he was here. If I eat properly and sleep properly and hydrate myself, it would be like I'm moving on and leaving him behind. And I can't leave him behind. My love is the only thing that makes him real, without it he would be entirely forgettable to the world. I don't want to forget him for a single second. I don't want him to be forgotten for a single second.

I loved him so much for the last fourteen and a half years. I refuse to stop. And to love him now that he's gone should mean feeling pain. I can't leave him behind. I don't want the grief to stop. I don't want to get to a point where I can't feel his presence behind me, where there is no slight hope of seeing him when I turn around, where I don't worry that loud sounds from my computer will disturb his rest. Isn't that masochistic?

I read in one of the grief articles that we should write a letter to our pets, and then write back from their perspective. I know that I'm not ready for that. Not because I am afraid that it will hurt, but because I don't want to be forgiven. I don't want to hear Tabby's kind words; he was always a kinder and better and purer soul than I will ever be. I don't want him to tell me to move on, to let go. I want to cling, and hurt and have the pain remind me of how much I loved him.

I can't leave him behind.

Oh, what a beautiful photo you posted of Tabby!

Okay, so I COMPLETELY get what you're saying about not wanting to forget him. About not wanting evidence of him to disappear. If you have it in you, please read my stream of posts in my thread Goodbye to Joe and Steve. You'll see that I was worried about the same thing. I left litter boxes in my house for days. I STILL have a stack of canned cat food in my pantry. I grieved over cat hair disappearing when vacuuming or washing sheets. I have brushes with cat hair in them that I have saved.

Now, this may sound a little bit crazy, but here's something that has helped me to keep the feeling of connection. I started lighting candles for them everyday at their dinner time on the table where they would eat. One candle for Joe and one for Steve. And I began to talk to them as if they were somehow on the other side of the flame. (Honestly, I hope they're not because I hope they're off romping around somewhere in heaven, but anyway...). I still talk to them almost everyday. It helps me process. I update them on how the dogs are doing. I cry. And best of all, it helps me to feel connected to them and I don't feel like they're slipping away. I, too, felt like the easing of pain would mean a distance from my kitties, but it's possible to stay connected. (I'm only five weeks out, but it is so for now.)

What you're feeling is SO familiar to me and takes me back to where I was just a few weeks ago. It's so normal to feel what you're feeling and I encourage you to embrace it. Eventually, you'll find a way through.

Moon Beam, who is the wonderful overseer of this forum, will write to you soon and she has such wonderful things to say that will comfort you, but hopefully some of my experience has helped.

Stay close to this place and I hope you'll have a peaceful evening.

CritzyJ

Maigrey

I am so sorry for your loss and I do completely understand your pain. At this time, I am sure you can't see that, with time, you'll feel better--

No matter how young or old they are---it still hurts!!! Last year I lost 6 of my kitties----the youngest was about 10 and the oldest, who I had since he was born, was 18 or 19---I cried, like a baby, for all of them. The hurt is not always with me, but it does surface every now and then-----And I still miss them all and do shed some tears when I think of them!!!! We still have 3--one kinda came along to replace the hurt I was feeling.

Grieve for him, it's still too early to stop that----and hopefully, it will get easier as the days pass.

Mary

Hi, Maigrey, please permit me to add my sincerest sympathies in the physical loss of your beloved Tabby. Losing a companion is never easy regardless of the circumstances or how long we are blessed with the privilege of their company. Euthanasia is the last gift of love we can give to our companions at great sacrifice to ourselves so that they can be restored to their former youthfulness in the company of the angels.

Maigrey, this grief journey is one of the most painful experiences you will know on this side of eternity. It is filled with many different emotions that usually overwhelm us all at one time. Please let me try to add my reassurance, as CritzyJ and Mistletoe have offered, that what you are feeling is very normal deep grief - - very painful both emotionally and physically, yes - - still very normal. Unfortunately there is no easy way to navigate this grief adjustment journey - - for it is a journey that can only be traveled one day at a time, sometimes one moment at a time, in your own way and in your own time - - for you are now on a journey that is filled with all the "first withouts" and the memories that right now are all too painful that include "this time yesterday, last week, last month, last year" to endure.

But one of the many things you need to remember is that you are not alone in your grief journey - - for each of us here do understand what you are going through, and we are here for you for as long and as often as you need us.

If I may try to address some of your thoughts you have shared with us already: First, it is very important that you try to eat something and drink plenty of liquids - - even if it's just crackers and water. When we are grieving, particularly in very deep grief, our bodies literally go into a "survival" mode to protect the vital organs from the physical effects of shock from the trauma - - and clinical professionals do recognize that the physical loss of a beloved companion qualifies as a traumatic event in our lives. Your physical body desperately needs to be hydrated because if it isn't you will begin to experience physical symptoms of dehydration - - which can be very serious and require emergency medical intervention. This is not something your beloved Tabby would want for you, Maigrey - - it is vitally important that you take care of yourself NOW so that you will be healthy later on when you are ready to honor him by taking care of another precious little soul that he will guide into your heart and life.

With regards to the "stages of grief" - - please let me try to reassure you that these were guidelines that were developed very early on in the 1970's and early 1980's when hospice services were first beginning in this country. The stages of grief as they were developed are now recognized as being a bit misleading - - for they do not happen in a straight line from "A to Z". And as for the "acceptance" - - there really is no "acceptance" of the physical loss of a loved one whoever the life form -- but rather it is more of an "adjustment to" their physical absence. And this "adjustment" is very painful both physically and emotionally.

Why? Because when our companions come into our hearts, our lives are changed for the better. They literally depend upon us for their every need, and they become the center of our universe. Every time they lick / kiss us, rub against us, etc., they are literally chemically imprinting themselves upon us so that they can identify us from all the other people on this planet. When our beloved companions precede us to the angels, our lives are changed again - - and we find ourselves literally experiencing a physical withdrawal from their chemical imprint - - and this is very painful both physically and emotionally. And we are faced with the incredible painful reality that we must now "re-invent" our daily routines that no longer include the physical and emotional needs of our companion.

So please let me try to reassure you that as your deep grief eases you will not be "losing" your beloved Tabby. Instead, your heart will be able to embrace the many treasured memories you and your beloved Tabby share and you will then know beyond all shadow of a doubt that the love bond you and your beloved Tabby share is eternal - - it is not dependent upon or restricted to the physical laws of time and space. Your beloved Tabby's sweet Living Spirit continues to share your earthly journey as he always has and always will - - for he is always and forever in your heart and memories - - he is always and forever a heartbeat close to you.

As CrtizyJ has so compassionately shared with you about her lighting candles for her beloved Steve and Joe, may I also offer you a suggestion to help "bridge" the adjustment to the physical pain of separation from your beloved Tabby: Many people here on this forum, including myself, have found it very helpful to hold something that belongs to our beloved companion - - a collar, a toy, a blanket - - whatever - - particularly when the deep grief is so intense that it feels like our hearts are literally breaking from the weight of it. No - - it isn't the same as holding your beloved Tabby's sweet precious physical body - - nothing will ever compensate with that blessing - - but it may help when your arms yearn to hold him and the pain of not being able to do so is unbearable. The important thing is for you to try to find positive ways of traveling your grief adjustment journey - - particularly during your very deep and intense deep grief.

Maigrey, I do know so very well from first hand experience that when our hearts are entrenched in very deep grief that there really are no adequate words in any language that can soothe the seering pain of sorrow. Still, I hope and pray that the words I share with you will be able to offer you some measure of comfort, support, encouragement, and hope as you travel your grief adjustment journey.

Thank you so very much for honoring us by sharing your beloved Tabby with us, Maigrey. He is a beautiful boy, and you are now blessed with the legacy of being the sole beneficiary of his eternal love - - and we are blessed to share your treasured memories. There is no doubt that you did everything in your power to give your beloved Tabby a happy and healthy earthly journey. The sad reality is that the time we have with our beloved companions is never long enough - - for we will always want just one more minute, one more hour, one more day - - one more lifetime with them.

I hope today is treating you kindly, Maigrey, and that you will have a peaceful evening blessed with your beloved Tabby's sweet Living Spirit to comfort you. Please know you are in my thoughts and prayers, and please let us know how you're doing.

Peace and blessings,
moon_beam

Hi Maigrey

I am so very sorry for your loss. Our beloved furry baby Scarlett passed away suddenly on July 11, 2013 - she was only 7 years old, and the loss is unbearable. The guilt we felt/and feel is paralyzing - read our story and you will see not only our journey but the comfort we received from the amazing people here. I benefited tremendously from reading other peoples stories because I could empathize with their loss and grieve not only for Scarlett but for their loss as well. It helped me understand (in some way) that I am not alone.

Our furry ones are so innocent and fill our lives with unconditional love and when they are gone the void is enormous. My husband and I have kept a white candle lit in our home since the day Scarlett passed - the flame seems to sooth us and remind us of Scarlett's sweet soul - it also stands as a reminder to us that her soul continues to live on. I also find it helpful to sleep with Scarlett's toys - going to bed without her has been so hard - I find comfort in holding her toys and sleeping with them.

In the daylight hours the only thing that has kept me sane while adjusting to this "new" life without Scarlett has been to embrace the grief, talking to friends that support and understand me, staying away from those people that don't understand and communicating with others who have/and are going through the same loss - this site is where I've found the most support.

I came across many poems and quotes, as I'm sure you have and will... one in particular aptly expresses what my husband and I are feeling, its a few lines from a poem:

They say memories are golden,
well maybe that is true.
We never wanted memories
we only wanted you.

Every one of us here are on our own individual journey, every one of us here are going through our own personal grief but know you are not alone Maigrey - we grieve right along side with you for Tabby. Please stay in touch and let me know how you are doing.


Here is the poem in its entirety:

We Only Wanted You

They say memories are golden,
well, maybe that is true.
We never wanted memories,
we only wanted you.

A million times we needed you
a million times we’ve cried.
If love alone could have saved you,
you never would have died.

In life we loved you dearly,
in death we love you still.
In our hearts you hold a place
no one else could fill.

If tears could build a stairway
and heartache make a lane,
We'd walk the path to Heaven
and bring you back again.

Our family chain is broken,
and nothing seems the same.
But as God calls us back one by one,
the chain will link again.

Thank you for your support and kind words, Scarlett's Mom and Dad, moon_beam, Mistletoe and CritzyJ. I am trying to heed your words and take care of myself and heal. I am a little better, at least on the outside. I feel like my subconscious has built a wall so that I can still function in the real world. But I can still feel the emptiness in my heart all the time. I may not remember at every moment of the day what it's there for (when I am working for instance) but I can always feel it.

It's so hard to explain. I am still shell-shocked. You know Tabby used to bring home live wild mice from outside. And these mice would be brought into our living room to be toyed with and patted and chased and punctured. The first few times I would have my father throw them away because they were gross and because I felt bad for them. Every time my cats would spend the next hour or more meowing and roaming the living room. They would look in all the places they saw it last and appear so sad because they didn't understand how, or why, or to where their favourite thing disappeared. Later on I just let them keep the mice until they were dead (I apologize if anyone here has a beloved rodent) because I figured they were critically injured anyway and I couldn't bear the heartbreak my kitties suffered.

That is how I feel right now. That someone has taken something so precious from me and I don't know why or how or where he is now. But all I want is for him to come back. I don't understand at all. My boyfriend broke up with me 2.5 weeks ago and I am barely dented. But losing Tabby has broken my heart so badly that I can't believe that anything could have hurt so much. He was my baby to protect and keep safe and all I can think is that I have failed. It doesn't matter that I've spent well over 5k on him in the last year, that I have been nursing him and syringe feeding him for 5 months, that I said I love you to him every time I saw him pretty much his whole life. That my father and my vet and my ex-boyfriend all say that I've done so much, much more than most. I failed my baby. I wasn't smart enough or focused enough on him, I didn't spend enough time with him, didn't spend enough money on him, didn't try hard enough. I'm so sorry Tabby.

Why is it that I can only think of the bad things? That terrible look in his eyes in the final weeks? That maybe I waited too long to put him to sleep? I keep thinking that I didn't get to spend any time with him but I was practically glued to him for his last 3 days. Why can't I remember any of the good times? Why can't I remember all the time I've spent with him? Why can I only think of the missed opportunities?

Hi, Maigrey, thank you so much for sharing with us how you're doing. I would like to try to offer you some comfort and encouragement to your most universal questions which we ALL go through during a grief journey: "Why is it that I can only think of the bad things? That terrible look in his eyes in the final weeks? That maybe I waited too long to put him to sleep? I keep thinking that I didn't get to spend any time with him but I was practically glued to him for his last 3 days. Why can't I remember any of the good times? Why can't I remember all the time I've spent with him? Why can I only think of the missed opportunities?"

Maigrey, right now your heart is entrenched in very deep sorrow, and because of this, your heart can only focus on your loss - - on the physical absence of your beloved Tabby. Please know that what you are going through is very normal, and I promise you it will not always be this way. I promise you with all my heart that one day - - very probably when you least expect it - - you will find yourself thinking of your beloved Tabby and you will find yourself smiling - - truly smiling - - and your heart will fill once again with warmth of your and your beloved Tabby's treasured memories. Will the emptiness completely go away? No - - because a very vital part of your heart and reason for living is no longer physically with you, but I promise you that the deep seering pain of emptiness and sorrow will ease, which will enable you to establish a "new normal" to your daily routines and goals - - always with the comfort and encouragement from your beloved Tabby's sweet Living Spirit.

But until this time comes for you, Maigrey, please know we are here for you, with you, and beside you through every step of your grief adjustment journey. We are here for you through the not so bad days, through the not so good days, and through the moments when it feels like your heart is breaking under the unbearable weight of your sorrow.

I hope today is treating you kindly, Maigrey, and that you will have a peaceful evening blessed with your beloved Tabby's sweet Living Spirit to comfort you. Please know you are in my thoughts and prayers, Maigrey, and please let us know how you're doing.

Peace and blessings,
moon_beam

Maigrey,

In the first few weeks after my kitties passed, I could only think of their last days and that final day. I just kept running their illnesses through my head and that last goodbye. It was all I could think of. Like you, I couldn't think of the good times. I couldn't even find joy in looking at photos of them. I think it must be a common reaction. The happier memories will come. I'm starting to get some of those more and more now.

The story of the mice made me smile. At this time of year, Steve would catch mice and let them go in the house. He rarely injured them. My husband and I got pretty good at catching them and letting them go. Each time, we'd say to the mouse, "It's your lucky day, dude." I hated that he brought mice in the house, but now that he's gone I miss that late summer routine we had. He was such an adventurer.

Anyway, just give yourself time to work through this. It's so hard, I know. That pressure in your chest, feeling like your heart is about to explode at any minute... It's an awful process and there's just no other way to get through it than to just go through it. But rest knowing that those happier thoughts of Tabby will come. Those feelings of guilt and intense sadness will ease a bit.

I'm hoping you'll have a peaceful day today.

CritzyJ

Maigrey, I'm so sorry. I wish I had more words for you but I'm just overwhelmed by my own grief right now, but seeing how recently you joined I anticipated the fresh heartbreak you're going through and wanted to come by and give you my condolences.