2014-10-18 - 12:34 a.m.
The period of my life that I've been dreading for a number of years is upon me.
Last week I had to have my Oscar put to sleep. I was strong and then I crawled into a bed and cooking coma for four hazy days of spontaneous tears and panic attacks. But I pulled myself through it. I did. And I went back to to work and I smiled. I SMILED. It was so hard, like, the physical effort of it was so very blatant. But I did it. And I knew that each day would get better and better and that this was fine. He lived a good and long life. Far longer and better than I had thought, in fact. I had an extra eight years with that friend. But still, I was waking up for the first time in twenty years with a very blank spot next to me. It's been so difficult. While I go about my day I find myself, on numerous occasions, wandering into the bedroom to check on him. But he's not there. When I had him put to sleep I had a plan in place. I had the luxury of four days of not working in which to grieve and pull myself together. I thought that, yes, this will be good. I will grieve and pull myself together and then, damn it, I'm going to start living my life better. I've been chained to my panic about him for almost a decade now. And in the last year or two I've been chained by panic and by the importance of being here twice a day to give him medicine. It is time for me to breathe a bit. It is time for me to live for myself for just a minute.
And then I took my Sully to the vet today. And found out that I am likely going to have to have him put to sleep within the week. And I don't even know if I can handle this. I have the distinct feeling that I am shattering. I started shaking when they told me and I haven't stopped yet twelve hours later. Shattering. I am.
I have seven cats who are over the age of fifteen. I've known for a long time that there is going to come a really dark time when they start leaving me in a fast procession. And I think that time is upon me.|
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