I can't recall the first time I heard that saying, but I know that I was a young child when I did. For whatever reason, I always found that a comforting notion.
I'll be honest and say that I have never really lost anyone that close to me. I had two great grandmothers who passed away when I was a single-digit age. I did lose a great uncle who I was very close to, but he went both fast and unexpectedly in a car accident. Natasha was even the first pet that I lost.
Last night I stayed up with her for most of the night, just watching her, talking to her, spending time with her until shortly after 3:00am. I was up again at 6:20am to spend her last few hours with her.
The actual visit to the vet was odd. I carried her inside in my arms, we laid her on one of her blankets and talked with the vet for a few minutes. He took her back to put in an IV-type thing and brought her back out to us. We got to spend as much time as we wanted with her, which wasn't that long as it turned out. I guess after spending so much time together the night before, I had said most of my good-byes and within a few minutes gave the vet the go ahead.
It only took about thirty seconds or so, she appeared to be asleep and then the vet said that she was gone. Out of the whole process over the past few weeks, that was the most difficult. A copleof things about it really bothered me (and kind fo continue to haunt me). The first was that one of her eyes didn't close, which bothered me because I thought that her eyes would be closed.
The other thing that bothered me was just looking at her after she was gone. We didn't stay that long afterwards, the vet told us we could stay as long as we wanted, but we were only there for three or four minutes. As I rubbed her head and down her back, kissed her on top of the head, I finally understood the term "lifeless body." I've seen people who have died in the past, I've seen dead animals too... But in looing at Natasha after she was gone, it really was a lifeless body.
Natasha was an active cat (see you can see from the picture). That particular at toy got a lot of work, as she would play with it for ten and fifteen minutes at a time, four to six times a day - in many instances so aggressively that she'd knock the entire thing over. We had this laserpointer that she would chase the red spot around the floor, even up the walls. Every Christmas morning she would spend the morning, sometimes the entire day, attacking and chewing up all of the Christmas wrapping - for that matter she'd do the same thing every time I'd ball up a piece of paper and throw it towards the trash basket and miss (and in a Ph.D. program, that's where a lot of my writing ends up).
In addition to her energy, she was also a very loyal cat. I've talked about how it was just Natasha and me for such a long period of time, and that seemed to cntinue to be an attachment with her, even after Lisa came around. If she was sitting up on the top of her chair (which was also know as our rocker which we haven't sat in for pretty much the last two and a half years). and I came into the living room and sat on the floor to watch television, she would get up and come over and sit next to me so I could scratch her head or her belly. If she was sitting next to Lisa while she was scratching her under the chin, if I got up and left to go to another room, she would leave Lisa and follow me into the next room and settle down where ever I was.
During the course of the day after it happened, we tried to keep busy. We actually left town altogether to try and keep our (mainly my) mind occupied. It has been good actually, when I have been seeing things, watching things, or visiting things - even doing work, reading, and watching television - it has only been in the back of my mind. When I stop, I tend to get lost in my thought about her and that is when I don't do so well. During one of the times that I wasn't doing so well, one of the things Lisa said to me did resonate with me. She told me that "Natasha had lived as good a life and that I had treated her better than some people treat their children." For whatever reason, that made me feel a little better.
One of the things that my wife gave me was a copy of this poem that someone at work gave her for me. It appears to be a common one when you Google losing a pet. It reads:
Rainbow Bridge
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....
Regardless if it is the rainbow bridge or when it is finally my time to be sleeping with the angels (hopefully not for quite some time yet), I do hope to see my little friend again.
Tags: cat, Flickr
