In Mourning with Cats

Moxie, as a kitten, giving kisses to her new Cat-Dad...

It's been a little over a month now since Sean passed away. I feel I'm still in survival mode; just trying to figure out how to live without the ever present thought of my beloved husband being a major consideration in my day-to-day activities. I've started having more lucid moments out of my brain fog. Most of the time I'm more 'numb', which is generally how I feel at work. I can't deal with all the decisions and drama there if I'm raw so, I think I just turn 'off' as much as possible.

                                                    

I have become more aware of my home environment lately. Last week, I donated all of Sean's medical equipment-bed, wheelchair, Hoyer lift, chux, etc-to a very lovely woman who works with veterans. I felt quite emotional once the space was emptied in the bedroom. However, I couldn't be selfish and hang onto those things he used. Knowing what a struggle we went through to get them, I wanted to ease someone else's life by providing them help in their care for a loved one. My apartment is the same, but the energy is different without those reminders associated with his long illness and suffering.                                 

       

Another change I hadn't been fully aware of until recently has been the behaviors of my cats since Sean has been gone. The longest the 'Babies' had gone without seeing him every day was almost 2 years ago when he went to a nursing facility for 3 months. Sean adored these "furbearin' critters" and they eased his anxiety when he was stuck in bed every day. They were his loving companions, more constant and consistent than his nursing caregivers, and they had a routine that followed being with and checking on him after I went off to work each day. They were anxious when Sean went to the hospital, as the chaos of his injury and paramedics in the home was a lot for them to deal with. Ringo would sit outside of the bedroom and howl...waiting for Sean to answer him. Moxie would look for Sean in the bedroom and not seeing him, she would slink off to the closet or other dark corner for comfort

Somehow, I know that the Babies are aware that Sean is gone. I didn't really think about it until recently that we ALL are grieving Sean's loss.  I am the center of their world now and it is different than just another short hospital stay. The Babies are not secure and I feel it with them. Nightly cuddles took on a level of sadness the day the hospital bed went away. Moxie, aka-the Floofy lap cat, still goes to hide in the closet and other closed spaces more often than before.  Ringo, aka-the Clown, comes over for cuddles now every day; he still howls outside the bedroom but runs right to me when I call his name. 

The Babies are sad and they miss their Cat-Dad. They help me stay focused in a day and not lose myself completely to my grief. But I didn't think that *I* am also helping them with theirs. I see the changes in their behaviors. I see how they still look for Sean. I see how they still go in the closet and sniff at his clothing and shoes. I know how I feel and I see that in them. All I can do for them is what I do for myself. Be gentle. Go slow. Pay attention. Let the grief come when it needs to. Cuddle and Play. Speak with love to Sean, wherever he is, and speak about him to the Babies. 

Every single night-the Cuddle Puddle

We have each other now-me and the Babies. Their grief is just as real as mine. Remembering that reminds me that I need to take care of myself-for me and for them. Some days are easier than others. I have just as many moments as Moxie does where I want to lie in a dark space and mourn for hours. I have the same anxiety as Ringo where I just want to call Sean's name in some sort of otherworldly game of Marco-Polo, hoping he'd answer me but knowing he never will again. We are all mourning Sean...and I need to remind them every day they are not alone and I'm with them. It will keep me focused and give me a reason to get up and get on with my days. I don't know how this will change for us, but I know that we are all just grieving Sean, one day at a time.