Right now, I’m grieving for the most Sage-rific, gray and white, pink-nosed cat I was lucky enough to have in my life. He’s worth all the grief, even I feel like I’m emotionally bleeding.
Trying to distract myself from the pain, I immersed myself in Disney flicks. I saw Tangled for the first time. The beautiful scene when all the lanterns floated up to the sky gave me a strange feeling, an odd reassurance. For a moment, I imagined Sage’s spirit brushed up against me, urging me to mourn him in cat time, not human time, to go through the motions of grief as quick as a cat trotting on his path.
This fancy comforted me like nothing else, since saying goodbye to Sage. We did other things, my husband and I, little rituals to comfort ourselves and say goodbye. Life goes on without our baby, which is both merciless and merciful; one of those paradoxes about life and death I could ponder forever and probably will. I still have to work. I still have to do laundry, even though I feel like I’m emotionally bleeding. The former gush of grief is slowing down, even though there are moments, memories, which make me erupt into a storm of sobbing.
While doing the laundry, I listened to Loved by the Sun by Jon Anderson. I visualized Sage opening his eyes, finding he was lying in a sunbeam in a great temple, both ancient Egyptian and modern. It was the Temple of Bast, where cats can go to in the afterlife, if they choose.
My husband pointed out by having that many cats in the same space would lead to fights, which Sage would definitely get into for a prime spot.
Surely the Temple of Bast would have soothing odors to calm feline rage, or something to settle cat fights, if it was a place where cats gather.
My husband suggested that the Temple of Bast should be the Land of Bast, where every deceased cat has their own temple of which they’re god. We chuckled over this.
How lovely to be able to dream or even visualize going to this temple, where you can see your deceased cats again. Just be prepared to wait on them, when you get there. ;)
Trying to distract myself from the pain, I immersed myself in Disney flicks. I saw Tangled for the first time. The beautiful scene when all the lanterns floated up to the sky gave me a strange feeling, an odd reassurance. For a moment, I imagined Sage’s spirit brushed up against me, urging me to mourn him in cat time, not human time, to go through the motions of grief as quick as a cat trotting on his path.
This fancy comforted me like nothing else, since saying goodbye to Sage. We did other things, my husband and I, little rituals to comfort ourselves and say goodbye. Life goes on without our baby, which is both merciless and merciful; one of those paradoxes about life and death I could ponder forever and probably will. I still have to work. I still have to do laundry, even though I feel like I’m emotionally bleeding. The former gush of grief is slowing down, even though there are moments, memories, which make me erupt into a storm of sobbing.
While doing the laundry, I listened to Loved by the Sun by Jon Anderson. I visualized Sage opening his eyes, finding he was lying in a sunbeam in a great temple, both ancient Egyptian and modern. It was the Temple of Bast, where cats can go to in the afterlife, if they choose.
My husband pointed out by having that many cats in the same space would lead to fights, which Sage would definitely get into for a prime spot.
Surely the Temple of Bast would have soothing odors to calm feline rage, or something to settle cat fights, if it was a place where cats gather.
My husband suggested that the Temple of Bast should be the Land of Bast, where every deceased cat has their own temple of which they’re god. We chuckled over this.
How lovely to be able to dream or even visualize going to this temple, where you can see your deceased cats again. Just be prepared to wait on them, when you get there. ;)