My beloved Princess Puccini passed away on May 21, 2024 from polycystic kidney disease. It happened quickly; one month passed between her diagnosis and her death. I was devastated, and yet I got up every morning, performed the usual routine of sort-of-living and caring for others’ cats, and lied down at night with this hole in my heart.
Then one day, I stopped feeling sad.
One Year Later
A shift occurred a couple of weekends ago when I started listening to music. Now, why is that a big deal? Well, music has occupied less than five percent of my time over the past eight years, and it was something that used to activate my imagination and get those creative juices flowing. Without it, I have been in a drought… but I’m not anymore because, yes, I am listening to music again. And that transports me.
I was not only grieving the loss of Puccini but all the parts of me that I had allowed to go dormant. Over time, I had set aside crucial bits of myself—all the joy—and struggled because of that. I had become less because others did not want the whole me.
I am remembering all that I was when I had a greater sense of self. I see the life that I have been living (meh), and I see the life that awaits me (yay).
After a year of grieving, seeking, encountering hurdles, crashing into walls… I feel peace.
I have hope.
I have faith.
That’s right. I have been praying to God every day for guidance and being spiritually filled by Him. It helps. I felt disordered before, but now I feel more grounded and centered.
However…
Touch = Comfort
One thing I wish I had had was someone to hold me.
Yes, people offered condolences and words of support, but what I needed—and what I need—is to be held. (like, physically held in someone’s arms. I’m not ashamed to say it.)
My father died of pancreatic cancer. He spent his last few weeks at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital. After visiting one afternoon, I exited the doors and headed toward the sidewalk. A small group of people stood there. I must have had a look on my face because one man asked how I was. I broke down. I fell into his arms and sobbed—right there for everyone to see. A thought crossed my mind, “He’s strong,” because he held me up in my weakened state. Suddenly, I became aware of my proximity to him, became embarrassed and peeled myself away. They offered to pray, but I apologized and scurried to the car.
My best friend died when we were twenty-one. She attended Cornell University. It was just before spring break. A bus operated by a drunk driver hit her, and she passed the following day (the day before my birthday). I remember being at the service, walking by the coffin, and losing it. Her brother held me, comforted me. I didn’t think I could stop crying.
It would be nice to feel that sense of safety, but I’ll be okay without it. Maybe it will happen someday. Maybe not. Regardless, I shall walk this path and see...
Reading List
Retail therapy. I get it. I’ve done it. However, I don't want anyone to feel as though they have to buy anything, especially in the throes of grief. Try seeking these books at the local library, a bereavement support group, or a friend if you are being mindful of spending.
The Bible, pick a version to read for free
The King of Terrors, Henry Scott Holland
It’s OK That You’re Not OK, Megan Devine
Companioning the Bereaved, Alan D. Wolfelt
When Your Pet Dies, Alan D. Wolfelt
Meaningful Coincidences, Bernard Beitman
Passing time caring for critters.
Creating while they nap.
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