The Machinery Of Grief

Posted on by Sarah A. Hoyt

I will stop being a drip about the kitten, and go on with life. Not that it’s going to pass or I’m going to forget, mind you — it unfortunately doesn’t work that way — but because it’s not your fault, and you shouldn’t have to put up with it.

Somewhere mentally I’m still locked in… It’s not denial, because I know it’s happened. It’s more …. I want it undone. My subconscious is stomping its feet and screaming that it wants to go back a week and two days, to happy, healthy running around kitten.

The “stages of grief” are… interesting tools, but not quite…. right.

And I don’t see a difference between mourning for humans and for cats but then I have a hole in my head, where cats read as “people”. Not all animals. Just cats and some dogs. When we had mice or guinea pigs of of course Derpy fish, I was very sad they died, but it wasn’t the gutting grief of losing what reads as “people.”

No. I don’t know why. Hole in the head. Possibly because I was raised with cats from very young.

Anyway, for me the process is the same, and this is the third of three deaths this year, (One expected, two unexpected) which is why it hit especially hard. The other two were human.

For some reason grief always gives me nausea too. Which means I only want to eat bland vaguely sweet things like potatoes or popcorn. Not great for me, but since I don’t eat much, not terrible.

Anyway, there is a point to this post, and it is this: There are coping strategies to deal with grief. There are even official ones, but I don’t know any. I know what works for me.

So, in the past, what works is…. being nice to myself. Yes, I’ll allow myself that piece of chocolate. (Not large, because, well.) And short of stopping work (this is bad for reasons) I allow myself to take it a little easier. (JUST a little. Like knock off an hour earlier.)

And yes, I will go for that little walk, or spend fifteen minutes outside reading.

I won’t beat myself up when I feel the need to cry twice or four times a day.

I try to hug my current living kitties and husband.

And I try to work. Though today as is, this blog post and the one at Mad Genius Club, and having gotten showered and dressed might count as work.

I’ll do more tomorrow. Including a real blog post.

Thank you for bearing with me. I know some of you think I’m being silly. And perhaps I am. I know people have suffered bigger (recent) losses and that people have much bigger problems.

But between the surprise and the second shock in a short time….. well, it is what it is. I can’t argue that having a knife cut to the hand is better than one to the chest. But it still hurts and has to be dealt with.

I will build from this, step by step.

I’m not there yet, but I can kind of see the time I don’t cry every day.

Loving is worth it, even if we know we’ll lose the beloved, whether a kitten, a human or a republic.

And we should fight as hard as we can not to lose them as is.

I’ll be better tomorrow. This too shall pass. And eventually the pain will become a dull ache. And eventually a faint reminiscent twinge.

Today is not that day. Better tomorrow.

90 thoughts on “The Machinery Of Grief”

    1. And everyone’s is different, and is felt and expressed differently, and all grief is valid. But again, no self-blame for shoulda-woulda-coulda!
      Be kind to yourself and you’ll work through it.

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  2. There are coping strategies to deal with grief. There are even official ones, but I don’t know any.
    ……………

    I don’t know of any either. I don’t know even what works for me. Right now it is the delusion I can protect all the fur balls currently entrusted to us. I know it is delusional. Doesn’t matter.

    And I don’t see a difference between mourning for humans and for cats but then I have a hole in my head, where cats read as “people”.
    …………..

    Yes. Cats and Dogs. Especially those we bring into our household. I feel for others who lose theirs, like you, Sarah, and Dan, with little Helena, because I get it. I do. No hole in the head needed. Extreme empathy applied.

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    1. We are responsible for the fur balls. So when something happens to them that we can in any way think is our fault, we feel guilty. If only…

      I write poetry because I “killed” one of my beloved pets. She was a rabbit who lived free in our back yard. Surrounded by a 6 foot fence, we thought she was safe. A racoon came over the fence and killed her, we heard her death wail in the back yard. I saw the racoon head over the back fence.

      I then proceeded to bleed my guilt onto a page. It wasn’t meant to be a poem. I didn’t write poems. My guilt poured out in words of confession. I had killed her. If I had kept her in a cage, she would have lived. I could have kept her safe.

      As I confessed, I realized she would have lived, but not lived. She would not have been free to race me to fallen peaches. She would not have been free to come to me. The freedom I gave her killed her, but that freedom let her live. Freedom is dangerous. As I wrote, I realized this seemed to be a poem. I didn’t write poetry.

      It turned out I did. I have written thousands of poems in the almost 30 years since she gave me the gift of poetry. Hence the name Presbypoet. God speaks poetically, so it is easier to hear him.

      So I thank you Alice. I look forward to seeing you and Ninja and all the other escorts, when we cross the true rainbow bridge to eternity.

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      1. In a lot of ways losing Thump taught me that our house location isn’t as safe as I always thought. In the mean time we’ve had 10 other cats, not counting the 4 current ones. We chose this house and location because it was relatively safe. Safe from traffic, while a lot, it is slow because grade school zone (at least until lately). No wild animals that would take a cat, which turns out to not be true, but not extensively reported before now. No one would believe it. But video confirms. It makes sense, we aren’t that far from extensive grain and hay operations, but we aren’t rural. I never considered the possibility of rodent control being a danger to the cats. I know differently now (whether that was what Thump got into, that IDK). They wouldn’t be any safer in rural settings.

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  3. Don’t sweat the small stuff, Sarah. Take care of yourself first, and your family after that, and don’t worry about taking on the rest of the world until you’re ready for it.

    Just remember to get up and kick the rest of the universe once a day to remind it that you’re still here, full of piss and vinegar, and ready to spit in its eye.

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  6. I get so mad when I see people telling other people that they’re griefing wrong. Your pain is your own, your grief is your own.

    Love ’em while you’ve got ’em.

    And virtual hugs to you and your family!

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  7. My dear friend, perhaps you unintentionally do your readers a disservice- has anyone said you were being silly, or chided you for sharing your suffering with us? I think not, and in fact from reading so many comments of those who have also lost members of their animal family, I do not think anyone feels that you need to justify your pain or your emotional state after losing one of yours. NO one is heartless enough to say, get on with life, etc, etc. WE are your FRIENDS and we understand! So please, no more apologies, write as much or little s you want about your grief, or memories of your kitty, or write whatever helps YOU . We are not here to be entertained, we are here because we are a sort of community, and I daresay we care about one another. We are here for you, and you are loved.

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      1. And even if someone had, everybody has the right to be silly sometimes.
        It’s part of being human.

        (Although I, for one, tend to associate silliness with fun.)

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        1. Which is how you know it’s a lie.

          We know those we’ve lost have gone on to a better place.

          So yes, we are sad, because they are not HERE, with us. Even though they’ve gone somewhere better.

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  8. No Today is not that day and it will take a while before that day will come but it will come. I will keep you in my prayers.

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  10. One of the things that I realized at a key turning point of my life – is that we get over great griefs on our own schedule. There’s no great directory in the sky with a schedule of these things. You cope and get over these griefs on your own time.

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  11. I still feel sad about my Brazilian Blue Tarantula, Morticia, who failed her molt and passed well before her expected lifespan some years ago.

    I will say nothing about how silly it is to be mourning an adorable little kitten gone too soon. It is the opposite of silly.

    I do hope little Helena will be memorialized as a character some day because I think it would be a character I would love to see.

    Pain hurts, however it comes.

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    1. Susan M – I am sorry for the loss of your little Morticia. I have no tarantulas, but have usually a dozen or so, spiders sharing the house with me- mostly ‘daddy long legs’ and cellar spiders. Dainty, graceful little creatures. God bless you.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Thank you, Julian. I don’t tell people in meat space how sad I was about Morticia. Most people are weirded out by spiders anyway and think the only good spider is a squished spider. Shudders

        But I knew that the fine folks here would understand. Even the ones who aren’t sharing house space with them. I have a very lovely corn spider who has set up shop by the water barrel in my front yard. She’s a hard worker and formidable foe to grasshoppers eating my holly hocks. By the end of summer she will be HUGE! The little girls across the street come and watch her spin. They will be very impressed at how big she will be and are learning not to fear spiders.

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          1. Sarah- Because you are so filled with loving kindness that it pours out on all creatures great and small

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        2. Yes, a pet is a pet, whether furry or scaly or chiten-armored. Some are passing through our lives, others take a chunk or our hearts with them. I’m remembering others who’ve crossed the Rainbow bridge, and it got dusty in here. Might be why I’m reading the Familiar stories another time.

          Speaking of being silly, the Far Side cartoon comes to mind: (Not going to try to find the panel; two spiders at the bottom of a playground slide with a big web. “If we pull this off, we eat like kings!”)

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          1. One of the HFY themes is that humans will pack bond with anything.

            Once you’ve pack bonded, that thing you pack bond with becomes family of choice. And sometimes (I’m tempted to say “usually”, but that’s based on my own situation which is…not typical of the population at large.) that “family of choice” can be closer and more tightly knit than family of blood.

            Of course you grieve when you lose a family member.

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  12. Grieving can trigger self-shame really hard. It feels so juvenile, so not capable, so not-adult. Maybe there was a time when you didn’t feel comfortable grieving like artists grieve–you can hear us wail for blocks when we really get going.

    I’m crying writing this–no one will call me silly or try to shame me because people here get it. Bawl like your heart depended on it is my only advice. Invite yourself to grieve when you feel the smallest memory. Lean into it, hard. You LOVED that kitten, and that’s got to come out on the other side.

    Nobody here is in a hurry at all. Except I want you to get about six more kittens right away, just to hedge your bets. You know they’ll all be barn cats and be all six leaping around the kitchen in six months.

    Be well, cat lover. You’re among friends.

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      1. I am glad to hear that. We never can replace the loved ones that have moved on, but so long as we can find new ones to love, life is worth living.

        Being in a metaphysical “woo woo” mood today, I have a theory that normal, sane people must have other people – and that does include cats, dogs, tarantulas, whatever – into which we can pour the flow of love inside of us, and receive a flow back, lest we get constipated.

        It’s a working hypothesis to explain the Left (NOT normal, sane people, by any means) – they have nothing to love, and nobody to love them, and are all “plugged up” inside. Certainly explains their usual facial expressions!

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      3. Good! Time varies for everybody.

        When Sweet Sara the Lab/Aussie died, we started looking for a dog right away. Found an advert at the farm & ranch store two weeks later, and Kat-the-dog came home with us that evening. Took a couple of minutes for her to decide we were going to be her new hoomans. Her sister didn’t want to go with us, but she got adopted by people we know through a business in town. Dot is a cowdog, and apparently quite a good one. Kat prefers to herd people. :) We trade border collie stories when I’m in town and R is at the store.

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        1. well the idea is siblings, so they’ll smell right to Indy-pol. Of course we’ll need to find families for more than 2, but we’ll do it.
          And it rovides a grain of hope in the distance, if that makes sense.

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        2. After Taylor died (age 10, after 6 years with a heart condition) I started look at rescues for a puppy (we’d never had a puppy :-) ). When we got Taylor, also a rescue, we’d been without a dog for 19 years and 11 months. I didn’t want to wait that long again. Oh, we’d always had cats, just not a dog. Found Pepper after 3 months. We got two 5 week old kittens after we lost Thump. We’d also been looking since we lost Emerald (age 19), semi-seriously (really needed to wait until all elderly cats were gone), and more seriously since we’d lost Silver (age 22), 8 months before. Then we got Freeway because inlaws couldn’t keep her. They help ease the ache from loosing Thump too soon. We weren’t expecting to lose Thump. We were suppose to have 4 cats with the kittens, then 5 with unexpected addition of Freeway. Someone else had other plans for our big boy ginger. Doesn’t make it easier. He was just fine with us.

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    2. “I’m not allowed to be said! They’re DEAD! I’m just missing them! I shouldn’t be allowed to be sad, it’s selfish!”

      I’ve got that bug in my head sometimes, too.

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      1. It’s unusual if I talk to someone who doesn’t feel that way at least at times.

        My Dad’s been dead since 2015 and I still bawl sometimes.

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        2. Lost dad in 2009. Um. Yeah.

          I still miss all the animals I’ve lost all the years. Harder have been “our kids”. When you consider that most our cats were 10 years old when our son was born, they really were our first kids. As we added them as our son grew, they also became his kids.

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  13. Take the time you need, grieve as you need to. We are here supporting you. You did everything you could. Go dark if you need to. We will still be here forvyou.

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  14. All I know is all I know.

    Dad had to trim back his work to get everything done after Mom passed from eight or nine things a day to two.
    I’m still looking for work.
    Dad found a note from Mom in the safe yesterday to all of us and that damn near set me crying again.
    I’ve got an interview tomorrow.
    …and the world goes on.

    Mourn, but don’t wallow. I know that there’s been a few times that wallowing has been extremely tempting. Especially with a kitten that was lost so very soon.
    And you’ve got friends. We’re here to help, as much as we can.

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      1. I don’t…quite need the income yet. I’ve got savings and no major debts or bills that need to be paid. As long as I don’t have a sudden medical issue or another disaster, I’m not in bad shape.

        Dad needs the help around the house, getting things organized and sorted out and somebody to be there when he needs it.

        I’m just being steady about this job-hunt thing because if I’m not steady about doing something, it’ll slip at some point.

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  15. I don’t think you’re being silly at all. I also see my Siamese cats (the two I have now and all of the many in the past that are no longer with me) as well as my German Shepherd as people. I also had cats from a very young age. Grief is grief no matter what you’re grieving. And it takes a while. Siamese can live up to 25 years and there is a lot of grief when you lose one after that long.

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  16. It’s the same way with me. I remember losing a dearly loved kitty in 1986. It still hurts. Just like losing a person.

    Grief does mess with your head. Do what you can to keep going on. Know that we care about you. Give love to those who are nearby.

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  17. It’s the same way with me. I remember losing a dearly loved kitty in 1986. It still hurts. Just like losing a person.

    Grief does mess with your head. Do what you can to keep going on. Know that we care about you. Give love to those who are nearby.

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  20. Worry not about little pixels in far flung places. While we may be shiny or dim, silly or sane, or even ever-so-slightly Odd, we abide much like any other sentient creature. We worry about other pixels, too, when we find they are hurting.

    Take your time. Do what’s needed, when it’s needed, and that includes chocolates and tissues. We shall abide.

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  23. I’ve been told ‘Grief is the last act of love we give to our departed”. Helena was very loved so continue on with your grief.

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  26. I’m so sorry for your loss.

    When we adopt a pet, we give them a part of ourselves. That’s why it hurts so much when they have to go. And it’s the price we pay for all the good times and the love they give us.

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  27. There’s a bit from people who’ve dealt with trauma and recovery that I think applies here: “You’re just as dead if you drown in 6 inches of water.”

    It’s never “just a cat”. Helena was a life you loved. Yes, you have the responsibility to keep going; so does every grieving person. But grief is. When I lost my last cat… it broke something in me for a long time.

    Take care of yourself. And trust me, we understand. Grief is human. And we writers are all human.

    (Well, or mythical, in the case of a certain Ox. Still humane.)

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  28. There is nothing silly about it. Love is love, a companion is a companion, a friend is a friend and the species isn’t the issue. Grief eases, but it takes the time it takes and comparing severity is useless – each loss is unique and specific to the person grieving. There is no right or wrong amount of grief or time. 

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  29. There would be something wrong with you if you didn’t feel that way. If you feel the need to rail against the unfairness of it all, rail away. We get it.

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    1. It is unfair. I told my husband we didn’t deserve her. He said yes we did. What neither we, nor she deserved is her early death. We should have had 20 years with her. And then when we were 80 and she 20, if she passed we’d know it wasn’t very long to be separated

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  30. Sarah, I share the pain you are feeling now, I am 3 weeks along the grief spectrum, having lost my 8 year old kittie Samba after he had what was supposed to be an essentially benign diagnostic procedure. Samba was a Bengal cat with a tremendous personality and his completely unexpected death leaves my entire family mourning his absence. I’ve had many cats and dogs, but this is particulary hard compared to the others. I know the pain of “what if”…what if I didn’t take him for this test, what if I didn’t let the vet talk me into it, what if I just let him live out his life the best he could and let him die at home with cuddles and hugs, instead of in a veterinary ICU where the staff was trying so hard to resuscitate him after he crashed coming out of the anesthesia? They tell you not to torture yourself with guilt, but it’s hard not to but as the days go by it does lessen. After 3 weeks, it doesn’t hurt as bad, but I miss my boy and always will, so I know you will miss that furry little bundle of kittie love and the unfulfilled promise of those years with her. I am very thankful for those 8 years and 1 month Samba was in my life, so I am starting to focus on that now as the acute grief becomes more tolerable. I know with time you will get there too. Be strong, be courageous, you will get through this and have many treasured memories to look back on. You wouldn’t grieve so hard if you didn’t love so much and that my friend is a very great honor indeed.

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    1. crashed coming out of the anesthesia
      ……………

      So sorry for your loss of your Simba.

      I understand the “what ifs” and the heart break.

      <3

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  32. Look, it’s your blog, it’s okay to grieve on it for Helena (and previous cats) and your human friends and family whenever you need to. Not all of us have intelligent things to say in response to grief, but we’ll be here.

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  33. No need to rush back into everything, babies are always the worst to lose. This has been a bad year for losing pets, but the one that probably hurts the worst was Aspen. I only had her for a few weeks before complications of a hard birth caught up to her, but it tore my heart to bits. I didn’t get enough time to love and spoil her, or see how pretty she would have been when she grew up. It shouldn’t have happened and I should have been able to stop it and save her. And since she was a goat, almost nobody gets why it hurts so bad. I hope you can feel better sooner rather than later somehow.

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  34. Everyone has their own fracture points and breaking strains and methods and times for healing. We are not all alike. The stages of grief are a somewhat useful metaphor perhaps but that’s it. I learned that in a stress class once.

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  35. If you have C.S.Lewis’s =Miracles= on the shelf (you do, don’t you?) pull it down and reread =A Chapter Not Strictly Necessay=.

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    1. Here’s a nice outline of Lewis’s book on Miracles.

      Click to access Carter%20MIRACLES%20outline.pdf

      A Chapter Not Strictly Necessary: Another objection to the miraculous is a desire that nature should exist “on her own.” The idea that she has been made and can on her own be altered by God may seem to take away all her spontaneity, But to say that God has created her is not to say that
      she is unreal, but precisely that she is real. Nature is by human (and probably divine) standards partly good and partly evil. The same tang runs though both her corruptions and excellences, You must have experienced the flavor from beyond the world before you can be aware of the flavor of nature—to treat her as Everything is to lose the whole pleasure of her.

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      1. one of God’s greatest abilities is that He can be subtle. So He is in charge, yet seems to not be in charge. He uses us. He uses nature. He sends the SMOD to Sodom. Einstein had it wrong, not only does God play dice with the universe, He plays with loaded dice.

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  36. Sarah, thank you for posting this today. I have the hardest duty that any pet owner can face to do today. I have to help my 14 year old Great Pyr, Kali cross over today. Your post and the replies of everyone here have given me what I need to do this last thing for her. And while it will blacken my heart for a long time to come, I know that I am repaying 14 years of loyal service and love to her with this last act. Thank you – sincerely.

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    1. I am so sorry you have to do this last service for Kali. It is a heart breaking task. I know. We’ve always been there with our littles (and not so littles) when it was time to help them go. Even was with Taylor when she sought me out, she died in my arms as her heart gave out. May her passing in your arms be gentle. She’ll wait for you at the Rainbow Bridge.

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    2. This is, indeed, the hardest part about having a pet. I had to make the decision to put our beloved shepherd to sleep after 15 wonderful years, and my biggest regret is that I waited too long when, in my heart, I knew it should have happened sooner. Helping them cross the rainbow bridge is the last loving and selfless act we can provide for our furry family members, but be darned if it doesn’t hurt us owners like all hell.

      Prayers for you and Kali. I do believe they wait for us beyond this mortal world.

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      1. my biggest regret is that I waited too long when, in my heart, I knew it should have happened sooner.
        ……………….

        So much this. I waited at least 7 months too long to put down my German Shepard. She’d had a stroke or two about 8 months before. Was experiencing seizures. Was experiencing extreme flea allergies (decades ago before the topicals were available, let alone worked). She was 14 and my first “baby” (even if she wasn’t a puppy when I got her). In my defense I’d had to make that choice weeks before the birth of our son (to say I was so not in the emotional state to do so, is a bit of an understatement). Since then we’ve sometimes gotten it right, sometimes not. Only a couple of times not having the conversation yet (Taylor was one with her heart condition).

        My other regret is we don’t have plaster cast foot prints of all of them (not a thing decades ago) or their ashes (couldn’t afford it, wish we’d done it anyway). I can recover the bones of most of our cats, if there is any left, for mass cremation. But not for the GS, buried on grandparents property, or the malamutes, buried on inlaws property near river. Neither property is owned by anyone we know, and burial 34 or more years ago..

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        1. Hugs I’m sorry about your shepherd–they’re amazing dogs. It’s just so hard sometimes to admit what’s before our eyes, especially when they are our first “baby”. I also had life events happening at the same time, but certainly not on the same level as having a baby–that definitely throws so many things into the air.

          I got the foot print done because we couldn’t afford the ashes (plus, we move rather a lot) and because Spouse couldn’t be there to say goodbye, and I knew Spouse would want something to remember our dog by as some measure of closure.

          The plaster casts might not have been an option years ago, but it sounds as though you found beautiful places to let them be for their eternal sleep.

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  37. It is very sad to read about kittens passing well before their time, so I imagine that it is even sadder to personally experience it. I will keep you and yours in my prayers and I find nothing silly about your grieving.

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  39. First, you’re not being silly or worse and anyone who claims so can either come say that to my face and deal with my retort or just fuck right off.

    Second, on why you react this way, I think you got it with “Possibly because I was raised with cats from very young.” That was true of me (Charlie slept in the crib with me every day and died young enough that I don’t remember him. Except in the service a cat in my bed has been the norm) and I take the loss of cats the same.

    Grief as you grieve. We are here if you need us and will back off if you need that. When you’re ready to be back to things, we’ll still be here.

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    1. Well said, herbn.
      Without those emotional connections, what is the point of life?
      When we understand that the pain of grief is reflective of the love we have, then we want to hurt. The more we hurt, the more we loved.
      But we must be careful not to wallow. Those we love/loved wouldn’t want that.

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  40. Some words from that notorious old meanie, St. Paul:

    “For I count it out (logizomai) that the sufferings of this time (kairou) now are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be unveiled to us.

    “For the eager longing (apokaradokia) of Creation waits patiently (apekdechetai) for the unveiling of the children of God.

    “For Creation was put under the command of emptiness — not of its own will, but by Him who put it under that command — in hopeful expectation that Creation itself will be set free from its slavery to decay, into the freedom of the glory of the children of God.

    “For we know that all Creation sighs together, and suffers labor pains together, right up to now.

    “And not just it, but we too… sigh within ourselves… awaiting patiently our adoption, the redemption of our bodies…

    “…but the Spirit Himself over-intercedes for us, with unutterable sighings.”

    (Romans 8:18-23, 26)

    This is a really interesting image, because it connects the sighs of grief and pain with the panting and groaning sighs of childbirth. It will hurt until the new heaven and new earth are born, and Creation is made new just like our own bodies.

    In a way, all created things are ours to care for, and their fate at present hurts us. It is definitely something to sigh and groan about. It’s not the way things were supposed to be.

    But we do have hopeful expectation that things will be different someday, when all Creation really is renewed. We can trust God to remember the sparrows and the lilies of the field on that day, as well as our pets, even if we don’t know how that will work. He made them and He loves them, more than we ever could; and so we can trust Him.

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  41. Rommie was a chest kitty. A long-haired tortie. Her coat was mostly black, so pictures of her seem to be a of a black blob. But she would curl up on my chest when I was sitting somewhere and purr to beat the band. She engaged in sibling rivalry with Siamon — Toni’s beloved blue-point Siamese.

    I have a sequence of photos of the two of them which I call (and, it seems, cannot post here — apologies) Sibling Rivalry and a Four-ounce Weight Advantage.

    We lost both of them — rommie to FIP and Siamon to heart failure — within weeks of each other. We were heartbroken all that year from it.

    And yet, we re-grew out clowder to number ten within two more years. I am minded of the speech from Romeo and Juliet: My love is as boundless as the sea. The more I have, the more I give to thee.

    It’s the only way to be.

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  44. Having experienced the death of my father at the first of this month, the similarities simply made me cry harder. I got to tell my dad (over the phone) I loved him, that I knew he loved us, and cracked one more joke about him having more hairs on his head than his younger brother. I was assured by the loved one standing nearby that he heard me and smiled (his wonderful smile was one of his most attractive features, he charmed ladies everywhere he went with it, including in the ER). By the time I made it home from work (where I was when the phone-call came), he was gone. We all grieve with the pain of our family, blood or duct-tape. I know that he is with Our LORD, and I am pawsitive that Helena is in the same place, waiting for her human mommy.

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