Of Grief

We lost Cookie on the 10th of August, after 16.5 years of him being our fluffy companion.

I don’t know how to process this grief other than to view it objectively, like a bystander looking through the window.

Grief is a confusing state. You try to move on but feel guilty to do so.

You cry but feel you don’t deserve to. People say “he’s in a better place; he was suffering”; and they mean well. But you can’t help but to think:

Was I so bad of a pet owner, that he was suffering with us?

Was this that bad of a place for him to have to leave us?

But perhaps these are selfish intentions. There’s a part of me that knows how bad this place is – was – but I had him through them all with me. And now. Now I don’t.

It feels silly – people have lost so much more. There are people in worst states in life.

Am I allowed to feel this way?

You want sympathy but not pity.

You want care but not attention.

You want some form of validation that you can’t even name.

You want some form of assurance that you will not be forgotten.

You want some form of confidence that you will not forget.

You feel guilty for letting him die. For letting him live (he’s been sick, you see).

You hold on to the memory of his heart beating so strongly but lie so helplessly on your lap.

You wonder – was it fair that we made that decision for him?

Grief is confusing.

“Are you okay?”

You’re okay. You’re not okay. But you’re okay.

---

I still don’t know how to say goodbye to you. Other than you thank you – for seeing me through primary school, high school, college, university, my first job, my second job. For seeing me through the hell of puberty, of transitions into adulthood. For seeing me through sad tears, happy tears, angry tears.

You were generous, kind, caring, selfless, loving. You knew no conditions (other than snacks), you knew no bounds, you knew no evil. You knew no tricks other than to catch a ball and to jump really high, but that was enough.

You were black, white, grey.

You were my sun, my shadow.

My comfort, my courage.

My hope when it felt hollow.

You were my joy, perhaps now my sorrow.

As you now rest under the papaya tree, I hope you know:

You are deeply loved, dearly missed.