I can't begin to articulate how I feel today. So many emotions conflicting with each other. One minute I'm fine, the next I'm bursting into tears. I woke up today the worst way possible. I woke up to my sweet, sweet Rose laying on the floor by the door. "Rose is dead." I said a matter of factly. No emotions, just making an observation from across the room. It wasn't until I went over to her and felt how cold she was and that she wasn't purring that it started to hit. I cried for almost 45 minutes straight. She was the first cat of my own. I had gotten her shortly after I moved into my house.
The days has been rough. This morning almost feels like a dream. I know it happened, but I can't quite process it yet. Just the thought of having to part with her makes me well up. She's been through a lot with me. She helped me through my divorce. She was a little aloof, like most cats. She would come out to the living room to visit us a couple times a day. She'd stay and cuddle for a bit before she hopped off the couch and went back to curl up in her laundry basket in the laundry room.
There will be no more "Rosie Time" in the morning while I get ready for work. There will be no more calls of "Rosie, time for bed" and she comes out from her basket to curl up with me in my bed as I drift off to sleep. There will be no more licking of hands, she really liked to lick hands. She was the softest kitty I've ever met. Her fur was so gorgeous. No more of Rose becoming kitten-like as she played with a string. No more of Rose sharpening her claws on the kitty tree. No more Rosie kisses and no more headbutts for cuddles. No more Rosie.
She was the best cat I could ask for.
A friend of mine sent me this poem, and it really helped.
Gone From My Sight
by Henry Van Dyke
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,
spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts
for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck
of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then, someone at my side says, “There, she is gone”
Gone where?
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,
hull and spar as she was when she left my side.
And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me -- not in her.
And, just at the moment when someone says, “There, she is gone,”
there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices
ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!”
And that is dying…
