(But) this love will
carry. This love will carry me.
I know this love will
carry me.
~ Dougie McLean
This chorus has been the ticker
tape thread running through my heart this last week. It buoyed me through the
days of tripping into unknown routines that Bella had been a part of. It held
me every time we started games we’d play with her, waiting for her to say her
line… cue the crickets and silence. Then the remembering that she was gone. Is
gone.
In my grief, I say a prayer for
every parent, and every ancestor of mine, who has ever lived to see the death
of a child. I cannot imagine that pain and I intend no comparison. But I feel
like I have a small window of insight into that kind of loss. I have no human
children, but ten years ago we brought home a sick, dying kitten...
You take a living being in. You
raise them. You care for them. You watch them explore the world and you hold
your breath when they take their first steps. Their first wounds. Their first
joys. And you become a family. Then, one day… they are gone? What words can
describe such loss?
I am the kind of woman who sees
life as life. A part of my family is missing. Again. But the difference is
tangible this time. Both of the young cats died before their elder, who spends
most every minute sleeping on a soft cushion. Now, the house is still.
Disquieted. There used to be a foundational layer of energy in this home, made
up of small feet padding around and about, patrolling and getting into
mischief.
That is what death took from our
house, literally pulling the energy-rug out from under us. Well-worn pathways
feel abandoned. Haunted. Gone are the backdrop noises that made me wonder
things like, where did she just jump down
from? Already, I can see the need for new life in this house, but it will
wait.
I spent most of the week in a weird
fog. I was numb. The days seemed unchanged to me and I was aware enough to note
that the thought was odd, since our world has changed. I would stumble into the
list of things-that-will-never-happen-again and would cry for a moment. And
then move on. I was thinking that I was doing much better than when Luna died,
which unnerved me. Because deep down inside my heart, I could feel the small
child holding back tears with her hands across her ears singing, “la la la la!”
I’ve been in denial. It’s normal. I
just didn’t think it would be so easy to do when the physical evidence of her
death surrounds me.
This morning, the Veterinary
Hospital called us to let us know that Bella’s ashes were there for us to pick
up. I suddenly felt deadened, like weights had just been piled on top of me.
And I started to feel the grief climbing up through my belly and my throat for
my mouth. We were bringing Bella home. We were bringing what remained of Bella
home. It was very real. It is very real.
There’s no timetable for grieving.
It’s different for everyone. As routines change and time passes, the daily
pangs ebb and healing occurs. We move forward because it’s in our nature. I let
myself trust that it will come. Bella’s ashes are home now, awaiting transformation
for when my heart is softened and not so raw.
Listen to Dougie McLean sing This Love Will Carry from 2010.
Listen to Dougie McLean sing This Love Will Carry from 2010.
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