A Week
 

So it's been almost a week without him. So weird to be in a house-- in a
world-- without Stinky. I expect to see him all the time-- when I get to
the top of the stairs, I expect to see him lounging on Mom's bed. When I
walk into the dining room, I expect to see him on the table. My mind cannot
get around the idea that he will not come back. Even though his ashes are
now sitting in a little green tin on the table. When I brought home Mimi's
ashes, that opened the floodgates and I knew she was gone. Even that
hasn't done it for me with Stinky. Even with the box of ashes sitting where
he use to sit, I still don't believe it.
I'm understanding, too, something of what Tak went through with Betty-- I
saw my beloved die. Even though I saw him die, I still think he's coming
back-- but even though I think that, I still dwell on those terrible
moments. He was not a well cat at the end, of course, but I still saw him--
and held him-- while he went from my sweet, alive Stinky boy to a lifeless,
staring rag in my arms. When the doctor put the needle in his leg, I went
down on my knees and made him look right into my face, so it would be the
last thing he saw. But the last thing I saw was him die, and then his poor
dead body. That was the last time I was with him, so it has been hard not
to think about, especially at night.


--
Theresa and Dante
drtmuirATearthlink.net

Stinky Forever: http://community.webshots.com/album/125591586JWEFwh

--
Theresa and Dante
drtmuirATearthlink.net

Stinky Forever: http://community.webshots.com/album/125591586JWEFwh

A Week
 

Kreisleriana wrote:
So it's been almost a week without him. So weird to be in a house-- in a
world-- without Stinky. I expect to see him all the time-- when I get to
the top of the stairs, I expect to see him lounging on Mom's bed. When I
walk into the dining room, I expect to see him on the table. My mind cannot
get around the idea that he will not come back. Even though his ashes are
now sitting in a little green tin on the table. When I brought home Mimi's
ashes, that opened the floodgates and I knew she was gone. Even that
hasn't done it for me with Stinky. Even with the box of ashes sitting where
he use to sit, I still don't believe it.
I'm understanding, too, something of what Tak went through with Betty-- I
saw my beloved die. Even though I saw him die, I still think he's coming
back-- but even though I think that, I still dwell on those terrible
moments. He was not a well cat at the end, of course, but I still saw him--
and held him-- while he went from my sweet, alive Stinky boy to a lifeless,
staring rag in my arms. When the doctor put the needle in his leg, I went
down on my knees and made him look right into my face, so it would be the
last thing he saw. But the last thing I saw was him die, and then his poor
dead body. That was the last time I was with him, so it has been hard not
to think about, especially at night.


{{{{{{{{{{Theresa}}}}}}}}}}}

I still miss my Princess Ivy Punkinhead Puffybutt - and she's been gone
for almost 6 years. Every time I see a twist tie (her favorite toy), I
think of her.

And the other day I thought I saw Smokey on HER spot on the back of the
sofa - but it was Tennessee (Smokey was gray, Tennessee is black, and it
was dark in the living room at the moment)

It's hard sometimes, but the memories will be with us forever. There's
probably a reason for it, too.

--
^..^ This is Kitty. Copy and paste Kitty into your signature to help
her wipe out Bunny's world domination.
--
The ONE and ONLY
lefthanded-pathetic-paranoid-psychotic-sarcastic-wiseass-ditzy
former-blonde in Bloomington! (And proud of it, too)©
email me at nalee1964 (at) comcast (dot) net
http://community.webshots.com/user/mgcmdjeep

A Week
 

"Kreisleriana" wrote in message
...

So it's been almost a week without him. So weird to be in a house-- in a
world-- without Stinky. I expect to see him all the time-- when I get to
the top of the stairs, I expect to see him lounging on Mom's bed. When I
walk into the dining room, I expect to see him on the table. My mind
cannot get around the idea that he will not come back. Even though his
ashes are now sitting in a little green tin on the table. When I brought
home Mimi's ashes, that opened the floodgates and I knew she was gone.
Even that hasn't done it for me with Stinky. Even with the box of ashes
sitting where he use to sit, I still don't believe it.
I'm understanding, too, something of what Tak went through with Betty-- I
saw my beloved die. Even though I saw him die, I still think he's coming
back-- but even though I think that, I still dwell on those terrible
moments. He was not a well cat at the end, of course, but I still saw
him-- and held him-- while he went from my sweet, alive Stinky boy to a
lifeless, staring rag in my arms. When the doctor put the needle in his
leg, I went down on my knees and made him look right into my face, so it
would be the last thing he saw. But the last thing I saw was him die, and
then his poor dead body. That was the last time I was with him, so it has
been hard not to think about, especially at night.


--
Theresa and Dante
drtmuirATearthlink.net

Stinky Forever: http://community.webshots.com/album/125591586JWEFwh

{{{{{{{{{{Theresa}}}}}}}}}}

I know how you feel, most of us here do - but there's a difference between
intellectualizing something and actually feeling it. Knowing you're not
alone doesn't take the pain away, but it will make it easier talk about him
here knowing that we'll always be here to listen and share your grief.

Hugs,

CatNipped

A Week
 

On Oct 6, 9:58*am, "Kreisleriana" wrote:
So it's been almost a week without him. *So weird to be in a house-- in a
world-- without Stinky. *I expect to see him all the time-- when I get to
the top of the stairs, I expect to see him lounging on Mom's bed. *When I
walk into the dining room, I expect to see him on the table. *My mind cannot
get around the idea that he will not come back. *Even though his ashes are
now sitting in a little green tin on the table. *When I brought home Mimi's
ashes, that opened the floodgates and *I knew she was gone. *Even that
hasn't done it for me with Stinky. *Even with the box of ashes sitting where
he use to sit, I still don't believe it.
I'm understanding, too, something of what Tak went through with Betty-- I
saw my beloved die. *Even though I saw him die, I still think he's coming
back-- but even though I think that, I still dwell on those terrible
moments. *He was not a well cat at the end, of course, but I still saw him-- *
and held him-- while he went from my sweet, alive Stinky boy to a lifeless,
staring rag in my arms. *When the doctor put the needle in his leg, I went
down on my knees and made him look right into my face, so it would be the
last thing he saw. *But the last thing I saw was him die, and then his poor
dead body. *That was the last time I was with him, so it has been hard not
to think about, especially at night.

It was the worst for you but the best for your Stinky. He went,
knowing how you love him. You can't not think about him. Just try to
remember the good things when you can. My heart breaks for your
heart.

Theresa and Dante and Stinky

--
Will in New Haven

A Week
 

"Kreisleriana" wrote in message
...

So it's been almost a week without him. So weird to be in a house-- in a
world-- without Stinky. I expect to see him all the time-- when I get to
the top of the stairs, I expect to see him lounging on Mom's bed. When I
walk into the dining room, I expect to see him on the table. My mind
cannot get around the idea that he will not come back. Even though his
ashes are now sitting in a little green tin on the table. When I brought
home Mimi's ashes, that opened the floodgates and I knew she was gone.
Even that hasn't done it for me with Stinky. Even with the box of ashes
sitting where he use to sit, I still don't believe it.
I'm understanding, too, something of what Tak went through with Betty-- I
saw my beloved die. Even though I saw him die, I still think he's coming
back-- but even though I think that, I still dwell on those terrible
moments. He was not a well cat at the end, of course, but I still saw
him-- and held him-- while he went from my sweet, alive Stinky boy to a
lifeless, staring rag in my arms. When the doctor put the needle in his
leg, I went down on my knees and made him look right into my face, so it
would be the last thing he saw. But the last thing I saw was him die, and
then his poor dead body. That was the last time I was with him, so it has
been hard not to think about, especially at night.


--
Theresa and Dante
drtmuirATearthlink.net

(((((((((Theresa)))))))))

As my sister once said, the only thing they do to hurt us is to die. And it
does hurt, terribly. All you can do is remind yourself that it was for his
sake, and that he is better off now. That, and try to remember the happy
times. I pray it will get easier - for you, for me, and for all of us who
have lost a beloved pet.

Joy

A Week
 

I held my Scooter Dog as the life drained out of her but, I knew she would
wake up at the bridge and to wellness again. It didn't make it easier, just
gave it a purpose and she knew I was there and doing what I thought best for
her, not me. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other, that is all
you can do.
"Kreisleriana" wrote in message
...

So it's been almost a week without him. So weird to be in a house-- in a
world-- without Stinky. I expect to see him all the time-- when I get to
the top of the stairs, I expect to see him lounging on Mom's bed. When I
walk into the dining room, I expect to see him on the table. My mind
cannot get around the idea that he will not come back. Even though his
ashes are now sitting in a little green tin on the table. When I brought
home Mimi's ashes, that opened the floodgates and I knew she was gone.
Even that hasn't done it for me with Stinky. Even with the box of ashes
sitting where he use to sit, I still don't believe it.
I'm understanding, too, something of what Tak went through with Betty-- I
saw my beloved die. Even though I saw him die, I still think he's coming
back-- but even though I think that, I still dwell on those terrible
moments. He was not a well cat at the end, of course, but I still saw
him-- and held him-- while he went from my sweet, alive Stinky boy to a
lifeless, staring rag in my arms. When the doctor put the needle in his
leg, I went down on my knees and made him look right into my face, so it
would be the last thing he saw. But the last thing I saw was him die, and
then his poor dead body. That was the last time I was with him, so it has
been hard not to think about, especially at night.


--
Theresa and Dante
drtmuirATearthlink.net

Stinky Forever: http://community.webshots.com/album/125591586JWEFwh

--
Theresa and Dante
drtmuirATearthlink.net

Stinky Forever: http://community.webshots.com/album/125591586JWEFwh

A Week
 

"Kreisleriana" wrote in message
...

So it's been almost a week without him. So weird to be in a house-- in a
world-- without Stinky. I expect to see him all the time-- when I get to
the top of the stairs, I expect to see him lounging on Mom's bed. When I
walk into the dining room, I expect to see him on the table. My mind
cannot get around the idea that he will not come back. Even though his
ashes are now sitting in a little green tin on the table. When I brought
home Mimi's ashes, that opened the floodgates and I knew she was gone.
Even that hasn't done it for me with Stinky. Even with the box of ashes
sitting where he use to sit, I still don't believe it.
I'm understanding, too, something of what Tak went through with Betty-- I
saw my beloved die. Even though I saw him die, I still think he's coming
back-- but even though I think that, I still dwell on those terrible
moments. He was not a well cat at the end, of course, but I still saw
him-- and held him-- while he went from my sweet, alive Stinky boy to a
lifeless, staring rag in my arms. When the doctor put the needle in his
leg, I went down on my knees and made him look right into my face, so it
would be the last thing he saw. But the last thing I saw was him die, and
then his poor dead body. That was the last time I was with him, so it has
been hard not to think about, especially at night.

Oh, my poor dear girl, my heart aches for you. Reading this takes me
straight back to the worst of my own grief that I've felt.
I believe what you are experiencing (and I did, too) is a form of post
traumatic stress. Once I realised this it became easier to understand.
After all what could possible be worse than witnessing the person or animal
you loved with all your heart die in front of you? I can't think of
anything.

It will not help you at the moment if I say that one day only the happy
memories will remain because you won't believe me. It's true, though.
In the meantime, allow yourself to grieve in your own way, for as long as it
takes, and remember that I think of you every day in your loss and send you
strength over the miles.

(hugs)
Tweed

A Week
 

"Kreisleriana" wrote:
So it's been almost a week without him. So weird to be in a house-- in a
world-- without Stinky. I expect to see him all the time-- when I get to
the top of the stairs, I expect to see him lounging on Mom's bed. When I
walk into the dining room, I expect to see him on the table. My mind cannot
get around the idea that he will not come back. Even though his ashes are
now sitting in a little green tin on the table. When I brought home Mimi's
ashes, that opened the floodgates and I knew she was gone. Even that
hasn't done it for me with Stinky. Even with the box of ashes sitting where
he use to sit, I still don't believe it.
I'm understanding, too, something of what Tak went through with Betty-- I
saw my beloved die. Even though I saw him die, I still think he's coming
back-- but even though I think that, I still dwell on those terrible
moments. He was not a well cat at the end, of course, but I still saw him--
and held him-- while he went from my sweet, alive Stinky boy to a lifeless,
staring rag in my arms. When the doctor put the needle in his leg, I went
down on my knees and made him look right into my face, so it would be the
last thing he saw. But the last thing I saw was him die, and then his poor
dead body. That was the last time I was with him, so it has been hard not
to think about, especially at night.

Oh Theresa, I've cried over your loss. When I lost Betty, I felt I
understood what you went through with Mimi. And I understand what you
must be going through with Stinky.

I think that my life just stopped in a very real way when I sent Betty
over the Bridge more than two years ago. Neither work, nor hobbies,
or even family is ever as foremost on my mind as that little girl. I
don't know if I'd still be here if it weren't for Dot, who I often
find myself accidentally calling "Betty", and Buster, who currently
has his inquisitive oversized head stuck in a cereal box that I'd
emptied for cardboard recycling.

I wish that death didn't have to be the last thing we saw of our
babies. But as bad as it is, I think it might be even worse if we
weren't there to see them off to their next journey.

A Week
 

"Kreisleriana" wrote in message
...

So it's been almost a week without him. So weird to be in a house--
in a world-- without Stinky.

What has helped me, I don't know if it will be any help to you. But
for many of our furkids that have gone over the years, it didn't feel
like they were truly gone.

With some I felt their presence for just a little while, a few days or
a few weeks. Others I still feel with me. My very closest used to
sit to the left of me on the sofa, just as close as she could get.
There are times I can still feel her there. And no dog or cat we've
had since ever sits in that spot.

Some part of him will always be with you. If it is spirit or memory
or what, only you know.

Can any life, having touched ours, every be truly gone?

Jo

A Week
 

Takayuki wrote:

"Kreisleriana" wrote:

So it's been almost a week without him. So weird to be in a house-- in a
world-- without Stinky. I expect to see him all the time-- when I get to
the top of the stairs, I expect to see him lounging on Mom's bed. When I
walk into the dining room, I expect to see him on the table. My mind cannot
get around the idea that he will not come back. Even though his ashes are
now sitting in a little green tin on the table. When I brought home Mimi's
ashes, that opened the floodgates and I knew she was gone. Even that
hasn't done it for me with Stinky. Even with the box of ashes sitting where
he use to sit, I still don't believe it.

I'm understanding, too, something of what Tak went through with Betty-- I
saw my beloved die. Even though I saw him die, I still think he's coming
back-- but even though I think that, I still dwell on those terrible
moments. He was not a well cat at the end, of course, but I still saw him--
and held him-- while he went from my sweet, alive Stinky boy to a lifeless,
staring rag in my arms. When the doctor put the needle in his leg, I went
down on my knees and made him look right into my face, so it would be the
last thing he saw. But the last thing I saw was him die, and then his poor
dead body. That was the last time I was with him, so it has been hard not
to think about, especially at night.

Oh Theresa, I've cried over your loss. When I lost Betty, I felt I
understood what you went through with Mimi. And I understand what you
must be going through with Stinky.

I think that my life just stopped in a very real way when I sent Betty
over the Bridge more than two years ago. Neither work, nor hobbies,
or even family is ever as foremost on my mind as that little girl. I
don't know if I'd still be here if it weren't for Dot, who I often
find myself accidentally calling "Betty", and Buster, who currently
has his inquisitive oversized head stuck in a cereal box that I'd
emptied for cardboard recycling.

As Marina has said on several occasions, laughter (in her case, at
Caliban's antics) seemed to be the best comfort for grief. Or at least,
for the worst of the grief, when it seems like you can never be happy
again. How can you believe there's no joy in the world when your cat
has his head stuck in an empty cereal box? :)

I remember when you (Tak) could not get the final image of Betty out
of your mind, when all of your happy memories of her were obliterated
by that final, grim, devastating picture. And I also remember when you
met your friend's cat, and making a small connection with that cat
suddenly allowed the good memories of Betty to come back. That's when
I realized that, although you will probably never stop missing her,
some real healing had taken place. You were no longer in the same
state of grief. You were starting to get ready for the next step - to
reach out to another cat.

Theresa, before I saw Takayuki's response, but also before I had a
chance to respond to your post myself, I was thinking this very thing.
Right now, all you can remember is that terrible last sight of him. But
it won't stay that way. You just need to get through this part of the
mourning, and I know it's awful. But when you start to be able to
remember the good things, and to be able to enjoy those memories, I
think you will know that the healing is starting.

In the meantime, I hope that Dante can make you laugh, as well as
comfort you in other ways. Now that he's the man of the house, he
might surprise you.

{{{Theresa}}}

--
Joyce ^..^

(To email me, remove the X's from my user name.)