My sweet Pepper passed away on Saturday. So get this guys? I lost not ONE, but TWO cats in 15 days. I mean, it must have been a lot of fucking ketchup.
It's been a few days and I was feeling . . . better? A feeling not equating death meets expired milk in a septic tank. So an improvement, I suppose.
Today was turning out to be pretty decent. Only cried 4-5 times. Spent time with my mom and brother, had dinner and watched WWE Raw (Wrestlemania aftermath) with my Beloved, almost booked a Mexican getaway (that is MUCH needed), walked 4 beautiful dogs, and finalized my husband's bday gift.
Not in that order. But productive and optimistic.
Did I mention that my husband and my birthday are this month? In addition to our anniversary? Also, baseball opening day. All April. All happy things . . . usually.
Yeah, let's add the death of my 2 fur babies to that.
Anyway, I was about to take a shower, wash this tragedy of a bed hair bun I've been adorning for the last week off, when I received the text:
My first fur baby, Bam, my sweet boy who died 2 weeks ago, is missing. His ashes were lost in transit.
I mean, what do you do with that? How do you brace for that shrapnel kick in the ovary?!?!
I'll tell you what you do, you start plotting WW III!
I immediately planned to print out signs to post near my apartment mailboxes begging my neighbors to please return him, no questions asked (although, who the fuck would steal ashes)? In addition, I made a plan to go to my post office in the morning and cause a scene. Also I made it a mission to wake up nice and early and call my vet and the crematory, and ask them, in what sick, Groundhog Day, "fuck me in the ass life" does this happen?
Instead, I threw up and started crying.
In that order. Which is an unchartered new level of gross, let me tell you.
My husband held me as I sat numb after the debacle of cry puking (now, that is love), caressing my birds nest of a hair bun, telling me it will be ok. And then I laid down, in my bed, wearing my jeans.
My sweet girl joined me. My Gracie, now my only cat. She is definitely having a hard time. Stuck on me like glue:
Special appearance by said bed hair.
Anyway, I texted one of my best friends, telling him I was hanging by a thread, going in to detail about my WW III plan. Luckily, he talked me down. Made me laugh even. For the 4 seconds I laughed, I was so so grateful for that feeling of not being devastated and shattered.
It was a very good 4 seconds.
Actually, no one would actually say that, if we are being frank.
Nonetheless . . .
This grieving stuff has been such an experience. I always felt grateful I was sheltered from death and losing someone you love. I don't know how ppl do it. My own husband has seen it very often in his life time, and yet he is so happy, so optimistic, and doesn't stare into the abyss like I have been doing these last 2 weeks.
Guys, I want to disappear for a week. Take my Gracie and my sweetheart and hide from everything. Stare in to the abyss where the horizon is blue and sunny, the air is fresh and salty, and the Pina colada is cold and never ending.
But for now, I just need to figure out how to put one foot in front of the other. And it's been the hardest goal of my life.
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