Grief: Two Years Later
For my blog today, I'd like to deviate from the normal writing posts and talk about something more dear to my heart...
It's been two years since my beloved cat, Buddy, died at the age of thirteen.
August 2nd. The day I dread the most every year.
He was my childhood pet - I adopted him when I was five - and my best friend. He was there during everything - when I was bullied as a kid and needed to be home-schooled, when my first boyfriend cheated on me, when my dad cheated on my mom and left us, when I was writing novels and getting rejection emails, when depression and anxiety consumed me...
Everything. And he never judged me one bit.
Grief is a wound that never truly heals, but the pain can lessen with time. Even though it's been two years, my heart still aches for him.
I watched him die of a very painful illness, despite spending two weeks at the vet and given plenty of medicine. It was just his time to die. I didn't want to accept it, but there it is.
If I could've died for him, I would've.
Some people say mourning a pet is silly. I pity them, because it shows they've never experienced the bond of a pet and their owner. A bond of unconditional love, friendship, trust, and companionship.
(It's perfectly healthy to mourn over a pet, especially one you spent many, many years with, so don't feel bad for doing so. It's akin to losing a family member or close friend.)
Losing him reminded me of when I lost my grandmother as a kid. She died when I was nine, so I didn't get to know her that well. But I still mourned, wishing we had more time together.
But wishing doesn't make it so, and life is cruel.
Grief never really goes away, but it does transform. You stop crying for them, but your soul never stops dreaming of being next to them again. Of hearing their voice, giving them a hug. Of telling them how much you truly loved them.
But you find a way to keep going - to keep living. And I think that's exactly what they'd want you to do.
Don't rush the grieving process. Let it wash over you and run its course. And then, gently, let go.
Rest in peace, Buddy. You will always be my best friend.
*If love could've saved you, you would've been immortal...*
Sincerely,
Dana
It's been two years since my beloved cat, Buddy, died at the age of thirteen.
August 2nd. The day I dread the most every year.
He was my childhood pet - I adopted him when I was five - and my best friend. He was there during everything - when I was bullied as a kid and needed to be home-schooled, when my first boyfriend cheated on me, when my dad cheated on my mom and left us, when I was writing novels and getting rejection emails, when depression and anxiety consumed me...
Everything. And he never judged me one bit.
Grief is a wound that never truly heals, but the pain can lessen with time. Even though it's been two years, my heart still aches for him.
I watched him die of a very painful illness, despite spending two weeks at the vet and given plenty of medicine. It was just his time to die. I didn't want to accept it, but there it is.
If I could've died for him, I would've.
Some people say mourning a pet is silly. I pity them, because it shows they've never experienced the bond of a pet and their owner. A bond of unconditional love, friendship, trust, and companionship.
(It's perfectly healthy to mourn over a pet, especially one you spent many, many years with, so don't feel bad for doing so. It's akin to losing a family member or close friend.)
Losing him reminded me of when I lost my grandmother as a kid. She died when I was nine, so I didn't get to know her that well. But I still mourned, wishing we had more time together.
But wishing doesn't make it so, and life is cruel.
Grief never really goes away, but it does transform. You stop crying for them, but your soul never stops dreaming of being next to them again. Of hearing their voice, giving them a hug. Of telling them how much you truly loved them.
But you find a way to keep going - to keep living. And I think that's exactly what they'd want you to do.
Don't rush the grieving process. Let it wash over you and run its course. And then, gently, let go.
Rest in peace, Buddy. You will always be my best friend.
*If love could've saved you, you would've been immortal...*
Sincerely,
Dana
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