More on Letting Go- Strength in What Remains Behind

Though nothing can bring back the hour
of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;
we will grieve not, rather find
strength in what remains behind.          William Wordsworth

Rufus the cat that hugs

The mornings are the hardest for me, I keep expecting to see a well dressed furry boy in a tux at my door, eager to enter. He is no more. Where I don't know, perhaps he's become a star. He was a star in my heart.

Those of you who read my last post know that I had to put Rufus down on Monday. As our friend Richard said, "isn't that what we're all signing up for, "Death with Dignity'?" Yes, it is. Then another piece of helpful information came from my son who had to put a beloved dog down last year. He said, "my vet coached me, telling me, 'wouldn't you rather choose the time when Albert's not in crisis so it can be a calm experience.?" Yes again. Still, the grief was awful.

Grief, that wretched experience of living through a great loss, whomps us over the head. Next it brings up all the sadness that is waiting there in your heart from the last, twenty or so very sad losses. I hate that. Too bad, it's the human condition. Pets have short lives and people you love can die unexpectedly and too soon. It truly sucks.

I knew that I was already pregrieving last week when Mr. Grout said, "I have some very sad news for you." "What?' "Our grandson accidentally knocked the answering machine off the shelf and all the messages on it were erased." "Can't you retrieve them?" "No, it's digital and they're gone." So I cried. These were messages from my grandkids as new talking babies and there were several really funny ones from my mother, though amusing to listen to---also heartbreaking to listen to her voice and long for her company. So I cried.

Also last week, we watched "True Grit", [the Cohen brothers new version] and though I witnessed ten or fifteen men get shot dead in that movie, I shed nary a tear until they had to put the horse "Blackie" down. Only then did the flood erupt. On some level, even though I was unable to admit it to myself, I knew that Rufus was not long for this world. [rather explain the entire Monday, read my post of 6/25/13]

So, my task today is to remember how privileged I was to have this little guy in my life. He not only brought me great joy and amusement but he was my faithful companion of 15 years, especially comforting to me because Mr. G was off working for the state. I owe him a big debt of gratitude.

As to who knows what happens to all of us when we die, try this: If you're looking up tonight and see an extra bright shining star, I know from whence it came. Blow a kiss.

susansmagicfeather 2013 copyright Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Letting Go of Someone You Love

The magnificent Rufus T. Firefly

The sad slow decline of Rufus started after he turned 15 years old. Up until that time he'd always been perky and ran at the sound of the door opening or his kibble rattling into his dish. He'd always been inordinately proud of his own food dish and made a special effort to escort people who he was fond of to see what an extraordinary dish he had. He's the first cat that I ever had who was affectionate. Many people have affectionate cats, but Rufus actually hugs and I have the pulled threads on many of my garment sleeves to prove it.

The grand kids especially loved Rufus and he would allow them to hold, pet and cuddle him, softly purring and going limp in their arms. Everyone should have a cat like Rufus at least once in their life: loving, loyal, obedient, kind, dear and caring. I am not anthropomorphizing. He really was all that.

I knew that the end was near and yet, like many pet owners before me couldn't bear to think of not having my buddy around. Several months ago he had a stroke or something and had been unable to groom his right side leaving unsightly dreadlocks. At first I cut them away and tried not to think about it. Then he perpetually turned in circles like dogs attempting to lie down and make the bedding comfortable. He circled upon entering the house, or going to his dish and or simply walking around. He was increasingly unstable and many times would just stop, sit and stare. I tried mentally to make this all part of his eccentricities like his basso profondo meow. Rufus was a very low maintenance, quiet cat except whenever I came home from a trip. Then he would scold me long and pitifully for leaving him.

When we recently returned from our trip to L.A. he had declined even more. I was preoccupied, very happily, with two of my grand kids who were staying for a few days and decided I'd not do anything until they left. So Monday I called the Vet and described a few of his symptoms and they said "we will squeeze you in." All day I prepared myself, part of me was hoping that the Vet was going to say, "we can fix this up with some [fill in the blanks, 'miracle cure'] and he should get better." The other part of me couldn't stop picking him up, treasuring his loving embracing and crying, crying, crying. I didn't tell Mr. G that I was already feeling heart broken.

At the Vets we waited for quite awhile and Rufus meowed as he normally did to express his displeasure at being in their office and especially around dogs. Finally the Vet called us in, Mr. G carrying in the cat carrier, and I shambled behind. The exam didn't take long. Rufus was always a tall thin cat, highest weight was 13 lbs, now he was down to a pathetic 7 lbs. She said, "he's probably had a brain lesion, and yes, maybe he is partially blind." "Is there anything we can do?" "Well, we could pep him up with some steroids..." I instantly started crying knowing that I'd just have to bring him back and also knowing that he was definitely not going to get better. "I can't bare the thought of him maybe being victimized by some of the stray cats in the neighborhood, or the raccoons. I've been preparing myself all day for this and I think it's time..," my crying stopped me from saying, "to put him down." She said, "are you sure you're ready for this." "Yes." Mr. G was shocked because I famously was unable to put down our almost 18 year old cat. [see the post on "Be Careful What You Ask for" written in 4/11] "I wasn't able to put down Boo Boo and I can't do that again to another pet." So, most lovingly she gave him a sedative and said, "I'll leave you time to say your good byes."

I would love to report that I fell headlong into acceptance but instead I sobbed loudly enough to disturb the waiting room. Rufus was in my arms, his paw on my shoulder, quietly descending into a peaceful sedation.The Vet came in for the final shot and he was gone.

We brought him home and buried Rufus right next to another beloved cat, Boo Boo. I got on the phone to get some comfort and called my funny and wise sister Sally. "I had to put Rufus down." "Oh, honey, he was your baby, I'm so sorry for you."  I cried some more. Sally said, "you should probably distract yourself tonight, have a glass of wine, watch a movie." "Yay, I think I will." Then Sally added, "just don't watch "Old Yeller".

susansmagicfeather copyright 2013 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved