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| Boojie in front of the heater - his favourite spot. |
Last couple of days, I thought I had found a happy place in my mind where I could think of him without breaking down, but nope. The grief has caught up with me again today. It feels like an extreme form of loneliness and isolation, alone in my mind and even in the midst of noise, I can feel the dead weight of silence. It's the inescapable regret of not having done enough that keeps coming back to haunt me.
In these moments, I'm constantly wishing he'd just suddenly appear and all would be well again. It makes me wonder about reality, and if I could see him somehow living in a parallel universe. My happiness would be an attempt to encompass and honour his spirit in me but I can't make it work. These attempts failed and all I have in me is the cold cruel truth of his loss.
I know whatever I do to try to free myself from this grief, nothing can replace the overpowering yearning in me for him to be alive again. If he had lived, I think I would have done all I could to get him and my other fur baby out of this place and into a bigger, better home with more stairs to climb and closets to hide in. He would have been a much happier cat and probably would have grown free of his health condition. No stress anymore. Just a happy, care-free cat who could have lived out a full life as he should have in the fur-baby body he was born into, given to him by the cool and magical dust of the universe and his ancestors, and then gifted to us - his human guardians - so we could learn to love and care and raise an entirely different species, another living being, as our own.
Boojie-Boo-Boo, you are never too far in my thoughts, and if I slip and get distracted, memories of you always reappear to remind me of your eternal jovial quintessence.
