As I sit before my computer screen this evening I find
myself contemplating being human. There are times that I fail to see any
benefit to being one. It might truly be better to not have this useless
intellect powering an over active imagination and fueling the unstoppable
thoughts that are torturing me. Two weeks ago I lost my young cat in an unexpected
and shocking death. My brain will not let the image of him lying on the floor lifeless
be put to rest. I keep seeing him in the days just before, careless, adorable
and so loving in stark contrast to his still form. At first, I just couldn’t
believe it. Then my brain began to try and find a reason for it. Certainly,
there must be a deeper reason, something that gives meaning. But there really
isn’t. He is gone, just like that. I have lost many people that I love and many
have gone after an illness. A few, like Zombie, died abruptly. I have missed
some of them terribly with an ache that is indescribable, like a hole torn in
my soul. But Zombie was my baby. He was my comfort when I felt inconsolable. Like
all felines, he never judged and always
trusted that I would be there to care for him. Why? I ask myself this
all the time. Why would he be taken from me? Was it something I did? Did I fail
to notice some dire symptom? And what am I going to do now?
We all seem to race through life, dimly aware that someday
we’ll die. We watch in horror as those we know grow older also and shy away
from the looming reality of our mortality. There are times when the death or
illness of someone close to us smacks us in the face and forces us to see the
inevitable. At those times, I have taken stock, changed my priorities and tried
to live my life as if every second counts. To me, people mean more than
anything else. Yet, here I am once again being smacked in the face. There was
no reason, no indication that Zombie would soon be gone. Now, I look at all the
people I love and feel panic that I will lose them. That they will be gone
before I ever have a chance to tell them, or show them, how much I love them.
It has been two weeks now. Last night I finally said to
myself, “I can let him go.” In some kind of unreal, nightmare, I buried him in
the backyard. The next day I built a cairn over him and covered it with roses.
I knew that he was at peace but I was just numb. We left the day after that to
go to IL and I feel like we abandoned him. I had nightmares about finding him
and nightmares about him not really being dead. In my waking hours I know that
he is gone and my grief is about me, not him. The numbness has worn off and I
can’t bear to think of returning to my home in WV without my baby there to
greet me. Maybe there’s a small comfort in the Navajo belief that we return to
the earth and become a part of her. A friend sent me this poem:
Do
not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.
No comments:
Post a Comment