Can’t Cry Hard Enough

I’m gonna live my life
Like every day’s the last.
Without a simple goodbye,
It all goes by so fast.

And now that you’re gone,
I can’t cry hard enough,
No, I can’t cry hard enough
For you to hear me now.

–Williams Brothers

My ex-husband thinks I’m sick, and I agree.  It’s been nearly a month since my sweet cat died in my arms.  Somehow I can’t wrestle free of the grief, the tears, and the enormous void that he left behind.  Every time I wake up, I forget for a second he’s gone, and then I remember and I realize that death is going to hit me harder and harder with every year, with every loss–and I can’t take it much longer.  All I do is cry.  How can I be useful to anybody if I can’t let this go?

So, since my ex says I won’t be able to handle being here by myself, he is taking me with him on vacation.  He bought me everything: a suitcase, new shoes, a beautiful dress, swim gear–he can’t seem to do enough to keep me on this earth.  He knows me all too well.  I would probably die if he left me here alone.  Maybe I’ll be all right, going away from here, but it feels like it’s all about me, and it isn’t.  The pain of losing my little cat isn’t as much the loss of him but the way he died.  He didn’t understand, could never understand the reason for his pain, nor why everything we did–I did–hurt him so much, especially when my ex walked away from him.

Is it possible for souls to forgive earthly sins once the soul is free of the body?  Is there anything I could say that will get through to the heaven where I believe he went–any message I could send so that he will know why I chose to medicate him and try to save his life? Or should I have just let him alone, let him die without any treatment at all?  How could he have understood that, either?

In the silence since he died, I don’t want to live.  It hurts so much.  There’s a knife-like pain deep in my chest.  Every time I remember his death, I see vividly that crystal clear moment when he went from being my warm, living cat to being an empty, lifeless shell.  I cannot stop seeing it and I can’t forgive myself for being unable to help him.

Late at night I scour the internet to find some kind of peace.  I have found none, but there are many, many people who write about the deaths of their cats in terms almost identical to mine.  So I know I’m not alone, and maybe someday I’ll finally be able to let go of this heartache, but that won’t be happening for a long, long time.

I did find a little phrase within the words of the bereaved that broke my heart: “I love you kitty.”  Maybe that’s all that needs to be said.  Of all the words and lengthy passages I’ve read by learned scholars of veterinary medicine who tell us all what we should do, nothing has moved me as much as these words.

I love you kitty.