A sad insight about loss
Jun. 2nd, 2007 04:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tenayaMove along if you're not feeling reflective.
I woke up this morning and like every morning, peered down at my legs before I rolled over. I was looking for Reg to make sure I wasn't about to kick him in the head. I then went to the bathroom and looked over, expecting Reg to be sitting at the threshold, for he'd sit there, waiting, and when I was done, he would then lead me towards the front door where he'd ask to go out.
Walking down the hall, I looked to one bedroom, then another, my eyes automatically scanning the beds for that big orange fur ball and the happy, come-hither look he always had. Before I turned down the hallway, I glanced down to be sure I wasn't about to kick any cats laying in wait at the crossroads.
Breakfast? I decided on tuna because the cats hadn't had the treat of tuna juice for a while. With a shock I realized I could add onions to my meal as Reg would not be sharing any of it.
It occurred to me that a hundred times a day we modify our behavior to make room for someone we live with. My decisions were not compromises but small choices that said "I love you" and "I want to make you happy."
It's those one hundred little jolts each day where I realize I no longer need to look before I move, or choose my dinner based on Reg's preferences that shock me, make me pause. I think that's why the grieving process takes so long. The wound can't scab over if it's constantly being picked at. We have to wait until we change our patterns and are no longer leaving room for someone else.
This epiphany is probably old news for many of you, but it was new to me and I wanted to note it down.
I woke up this morning and like every morning, peered down at my legs before I rolled over. I was looking for Reg to make sure I wasn't about to kick him in the head. I then went to the bathroom and looked over, expecting Reg to be sitting at the threshold, for he'd sit there, waiting, and when I was done, he would then lead me towards the front door where he'd ask to go out.
Walking down the hall, I looked to one bedroom, then another, my eyes automatically scanning the beds for that big orange fur ball and the happy, come-hither look he always had. Before I turned down the hallway, I glanced down to be sure I wasn't about to kick any cats laying in wait at the crossroads.
Breakfast? I decided on tuna because the cats hadn't had the treat of tuna juice for a while. With a shock I realized I could add onions to my meal as Reg would not be sharing any of it.
It occurred to me that a hundred times a day we modify our behavior to make room for someone we live with. My decisions were not compromises but small choices that said "I love you" and "I want to make you happy."
It's those one hundred little jolts each day where I realize I no longer need to look before I move, or choose my dinner based on Reg's preferences that shock me, make me pause. I think that's why the grieving process takes so long. The wound can't scab over if it's constantly being picked at. We have to wait until we change our patterns and are no longer leaving room for someone else.
This epiphany is probably old news for many of you, but it was new to me and I wanted to note it down.
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-04 04:55 am (UTC)He was euthanzised on May 11 when the vets found a cancerous mass in the back of his mouth that was preventing him from eating and giving him trouble breathing.
The tail is no more.