Absence vs Grief (and Four Legged Teachers)
I have shared life with a cat since I was 10 years old. My three feline companions over these 30+ years have been some of my most valuable life teachers, offering lessons such as how to accept love in the moment without feeling the pressure to immediately reciprocate, and thus how to give love without expectation.
When I was in my mid 20’s, I decided I was ready for the first time to be responsible for a cat of my own. I began visiting the local SPCA and looking through classified ads. I was looking for a female siamese, having known one in my teen years. I visited the SPCA one afternoon and to do a quick walk through of the two cat rooms. I was on my way out when a small calico female ran from an unseen hiding spot, sat down in front of me and looked up at me. My cat, it turned out, picked me. I simply said yes.
Miso slept with me from the first night. We lived in three cities and made several homes together. We lived just the two us in a cabin by a river and we lived in the big city with my partner, two other cats and two large dogs. We shared more than 15 years of life together.
Miso’s sickness came on rapidly. It was not a clear diagnosis and there were some possible causes that could have been fully cured, with years more life to come. The last morning I took her to the vet she appeared to be on the upswing. She slept with me the night before and ate on her own that morning, both for the first time in a few weeks. My hope, however, was misplaced. Further labs tests were conclusive. My very caring vet informed me we should put her down within the next few days. I chose to do so on that visit. Miso hated the cat carry/car/vet experience and had enjoyed a beautiful last 24 hours. I knew any delay would be for me, not for her.
The vet took Miso into the surgery area to put in a port so that the euthanasia could be without trauma. She brought Miso back to spend her last minutes with me. To spend her last minutes teaching me one final lesson, her greatest lesson yet: how to die with grace.
For the last 30 minutes of Miso’s life, she lay in my lap, purring softly and peacefully. I believe we all know, in some deep place and often in immediate consciousness, when we are near our death. There was no struggle in Miso, just grace. I called for the vet. The overdose of anesthetic was fast and simple. Miso’s last exhale, in my arms and on my lap, was a long, slow purr. It was a graceful death.
In the immediate aftermath of Miso’s life something unexpected happened. I experienced no sadness and no grief. I had shared most of my adult life with this being. I had so many memories, and yet I felt no sadness. I felt the loss of her, her absence, but no grief. After a few days, I started to question whether I was in denial or suppressing my emotions. I meditated and introspected on this and it became clear that this was not the case. There simply was nothing to grieve. I missed her constantly, the absence was palpable and painful, but that was all. She had lived a healthy, long, diverse life, and she had died peacefully surrounded by love, purring her way out. We should all be so lucky.
I decided immediately to search for a new feline companion. Not to replace Miso, as this would not be possible, nor to dull any sensation or emotion, but to celebrate and honor the lessons that she taught me. Miso had shown me so much about life and love, given me so much capacity and so many tools, that the only thing to do was to use those tools and that capacity with another. The greatest honor I could offer her was to not forget or hide what I learned from her, and to not shut down. I celebrated her by living and loving.
The story of my connection with beloved little Ruby is a tale unto itself with twists and turns. I am, as of this date, four years into a deep love affair with my small grey fluffy companion. She brings me daily joy and laughter and is teaching me all new lessons, notably what it feels like to feel totally safe with another (see photo for this blog).
Barring an accident or unforeseen illness, Ruby will share life with me for many more years. In the end, I wish her the same that I wish for myself and all beings: to live well and to die with grace.
Let us all strive to have the grace to purr our way out of this life.