My Grief at Hoppy Going
No matter how long or short the preparation for death, there’s always the space left, the loss. Some say you can prepare yourself for that if there’s a protracted illness. I would say it’s not possible to imagine being without the person or creature no matter how difficult before death. They say sudden death carries with it a different grief, having to manage the shock as well. Could be, could be.
Our three-legged cat, Hoppy was ill for over four months, a lot of treatment required in that time. We knew he was going to go. It was a matter of keeping a close watch on his behaviour to see if he was suffering.
There is probably no general grief, it is all unique – the feelings that emanate from a specific loss, the memories of the loved one deepening the grief. It’s strange how we appreciate the memory of our dear departed, or rather perhaps the memory of loss is keener than the feeling for the living, whom we can take for granted, assuming they’ll always be there. I look at Lucy now, our other cat, our sole remaining cat, and I recall how Hoppy would try to relate to her by moving towards her, then she’d bristle and he’d respond by rearing up. I liked to think they were playing.
Sun. April 21, 2020
Seeing Hoppy becomes less, seeing where he used to sit in the sun, proud with three white paws showing, seeing him on his three legs labour towards to me, hearing him make his impression of a “miaow”. All of these become less. Not seeing or hearing him becomes the norm. Anything other would be unhealthy. I feel respectful remembering him each time I pass his grave, several times a day.
Wed. April 24
I planted a lemon grass at his grave today, and two white “forget-me-nots”. His paper photo is lasting remarkably well.
April 29
Amazing how the mind, perhaps the healthy mind, dealing with bad stuff, lets it fade away, no stressing, no forcing, it just happens. Over two weeks now since I organised Hops’s death, and I just think of him with pleasure, glad that he’s out of his discomfort.
I like to remember that Hops had a life before he came to us at about age six. It would have been a four-legged life. We rescued him after several operations at the SPCA. We knew him only with three legs, some unfeeling youth having shot a leg off.
Lucy misses him, too. She senses the space, him not there. Hoppy’s up-down movement has stopped, as he moved forward lurchingly on his three legs. There are no more inquiring eyes uplifted to us. They’re just sharply in memory.