Back to normal?

Thank you Louise and Shannee for your condolences. Life is returning to normal. My granddaughter actually did have to have a minor surgical procedure to clean drain the infection, she is now healing and recovering well. I have been dealing with my grief and it did help to cry it out that night. My routine is definitely changed now. There is no cat to feed or give a pat to. Of course I still have the three dogs who command and vie for my attention, but this is the first time in almost 20 years that I have not had a feline friend around. It is strange for me. Dogs and cats are most certainly different and I miss that interaction that I had with her (as demanding and conditional as it was). It has crossed my mind to get another, but my last four cat losses were very hard and I am not ready. I also really don't have the time and financial resources to devote to another animal.

I must say that I hate playing god. It is always a gut wrenching decision to know when it is the right time to end a life, especially when it is slow decline and not relieving total misery. Perhaps it was good that I had a major distraction on that day. Her passing was not nearly as peaceful as others that I helped cross over. Certainly it wasn't painful, but she fought so hard against it I had to second guess myself.

It makes me ponder the suffering we allow our human loved ones to endure, even when they are capable of voicing when they no longer want to deal with the agony of this life. After watching my grandmother, aunt and then my father suffer through what was known to be a losing battle, I wish I had the courage and the resources to help them end their struggle. I understand all of the ethical implications and the possibility of abuse, yet compassion is compassion whether an animal or a human being is involved. I absolutely do not understand why we, as a culture, can justify killing in war, but not help someone die with dignity. Perhaps I should be glad that I did not have to play god in those cases. However, a bit of regret remains.

I didn't even realize that it had been about three months since I posted here. I can give all kinds of excuses, but I am not going to. I just haven't had much to say, at least not much that I thought anyone would want to read. Maybe I still don't, but I am writing tonight anyway. J was here last night and it was wonderful. He made everything better. Tonight I am alone and I am exhausted and incredibly sad.

Last week my granddaughter was in the hospital. She had an infection in her neck, or should I say in a lump on her neck. Bottom line her lymph node was infected and necrotic and they thought it might be a staph infection. She spent several days in the hospital hooked up to IV antibiotics. She is home now and still on antibiotics (heavy duty ones), but she had to return to the emergency room last night and have the lump drained. I wasn't there, but I guess it was pretty hard on her. They had to make an incision and get all the infection out.

If I may back up even more...the day she went into the hospital last week, was the day I took my incredibly old, blind cat to the vet to be euthanized. In fact, I was on my way there, when my son called to say they were going to the hospital. I am very good at pushing my emotions deep inside and ignoring them. I pushed my grief about my cat to the side, so I could deal with the worry about my granddaughter. I was successful in doing that until today. Today I got home from work and got the mail in, I noticed something that looked like a card. I thought it would be something pleasant, maybe an invitation. Instead, it was a condolence card from our vet. I stood there looking at it for a moment as it all sunk in, I just began to sob. I am not a crier, but I have been crying on and off all night.

It is silly and I am mad at myself. I love my pets, I certainly have grieved deeply for an animal before, but I don't want this. I want to stuff it all back in and forget about it. She was old, she was sick, out of all the animals we have had, I was never particularly bonded to her. She didn't even like me when she was younger and she just tolerated me when she was old. But I cared for her. In fact I cared for her for 16 years. She was my son's cat, when he left home he left her here and I continued to care for her. When she became blind, I continued to care for her. In fact, I was careful not to move anything around and to stand and guard her food while she was eating (so the dogs would not steal it). I became much more aware of where she was at my feet, so I would not step on her or bump her. I brushed her when she could not groom herself anymore (at least as much as she would tolerate before she tried to bite me). She and I developed and maintained a routine and an understanding. She put up with me, because she needed me and I put up with her, because she reminded me of myself. We were both tough and we were survivors. In fact she was such a tough survivor that she hissed and spit at the vet in her last minutes and it took two injections to finally stop her heart. Maybe she knew, maybe she did not want to go gentle into that good night. Somehow I think I Dylan Thomas reference is appropriate for her (especially a poem about his blind father for my blind cat).

So I guess I will continue to shed a few tears for her tonight. I actually am releasing the events of the last week as I am releasing her. Because tomorrow life marches on and I must march on with it. Tonight though, I can cry for Cybil.