Hello, Moon_beam - hope you're well.

I definitely like keeping a journal. Sometimes I find myself able to articulate what I'm feeling much better in text than I can out loud. I do talk to Pippin on those long drives, usually through tears, but I know that's a part of this process. After all, it wouldn't hurt nearly so much if he weren't so special to me; my tears, though painful, honor his memory. Yesterday was 6 weeks since Pippin died, and that was very hard, though I found the days leading up to it were hardest.

It's been a rough few days at work, thanks to politics and challenging patients. Today, though, was a day off, and I was able to spend it with the husband and the fur tribe. I saw Miss Willow and Earl Grey playing together for the first time today! Tomorrow's our one month Earl-i-versary, so that's very nice to see. Today was a good day.

Thank you for your thoughts and prayers, Moon_beam. They mean a lot to me.

I love the idea of a pet remembrance journal. How lovely to keep those things close. We have a lot of things of Pippin's that we can't bear to throw away, but having them out and visible is too painful a reminder of his illness - we have his IV fluids, his medications, his glucometer... the sheet that was on our bed the last nights he was at home, and when he slept with me. We can't bring ourselves to put it in the wash, so it's folded neatly in my closet. I was thinking of finding a storage trunk - something pretty - and placing Pippin's things in there. That way we're reminded of him, but not faced with the constant, concrete reminders of how hard we fought to keep him alive. I would like to remember the good times with him: the times he played with us, and the times he enjoyed his meals so very much... the times he and his brother had cat-battles... the times he slept on my hip.

Thank you, Danny's Mom. I hope this has been shaping up to be a good weekend for you, and that you continue to be surrounded by Danny's love.

xxForeverxx,

Thank you for the kind thoughts. Are you finding that writing your journal is helping you? I think I like to keep myself busy for the same reason you mentioned. I certainly accept my grief and sadness when it comes over me, but sometimes I find myself ruminating over the "what ifs" and "whys." I think those are the times when I find it most helpful to make myself do something constructive. Consequently, I think I've gotten more home improvement done in the past 6 weeks than I have in the past 6 years!

We just had a very sad moment. Our little guy, Strider, just found Pippin's carrier in the basement. We only just were able to bring it in from the trunk of my SUV two weeks ago, and it still has the comfy pad in it, and Pippin's favorite toy that we brought with him to comfort him. It was the carrier we took him to the emergency hospital in for the last time. Strider sniffed it, pawed at it, then ran upstairs and started looking around for Pippin. How do you explain that to a cat? Poor guy. We just gave him lots of love, and told him we understood, and we knew he was sad. My poor little guy.

Thank you, again, xxForeverxx.

Hi, Kel, thank you so mcuh for sharing with us how you're doing. This grief journey, particularly during the first year, is filled with continual "angel-versaries": the first day, the first week, the first month, the first holiday, the first vacation - - every day holds its own form of reminder that "this time last week, last month, last year" and my beloved Pippin was here to share this / that or did this / that, and on it goes. But you are so right when you say: "my tears, though painful, honor his memory." I promise you, Kel, there will come a time when you will be able to remember your beloved Pippin and smile - - which will honor him, too - - and which is what he wants for you.

I'm glad you are findng keeping a journal helpful. I know your beloved Pippin is reading every word you write, and you may even find him helping you by softly saying: "hey, mom, remember this?" and you will find yourself writing a memory that you had not previously thought about.

I'm so glad Miss Willow and Sir Earl Grey are becoming friends. I know how seeing them play together brought joy to your heart.

I hope today is treating you kindly, Kel, and that you, your husband, and furkids will have a very peaceful evening blessed with your beloved Pippin's sweet Living Spirit to comfort you. Please know you are in my thoughts and prayers, kel, and that I look forward to knowing how you're doing.

Peace and blessings,
moon_beam

Hello Kel, greetings to you and yours from my little household. I know exactly what you mean about the reminders being too painful and the need to keeping them hidden. Every time I went in my spare room and looked at Danny's carrier I started getting panicky. It was disassembled and still had a tag with his name on the carrier door. One day I just went and put it in the closet. I can't bear to reassemble it and I don't think I will transport another cat in it. It is just way too painful for me. The last time I was at the vet with Tina they wanted to put me in room 2 ("the" room) and I started panicking and asked them if they could put me in another room. They said it was no problem and they would put that in my chart. I remembered how Danny kept looking at the print that hung on the wall in that room, Tuxedo cats sitting down for dinner.

Kel, for you it was a much longer battle than for me, and that has got to be so hard on you, knowing that you did all you could. I too struggled a lot with the "whys" and "what ifs". For the first few weeks I was just eaten up by guilt, but that too is normal and part of the grief journey. Accepting something that you can't change is so hard. I am glad that Willow and Earl Grey are playing together.

I had been doing okay today - okay enough that I started to make a book of pictures of Pippin. But looking through them, seeing how happy and wonderful he was... I can't stop crying. I'm so glad he had a good life - a life where he was happy and loved. And I'd so rather I have this pain, than he have the pain of being sick and hurting, but I miss him so. My heart just aches to have my little guy back with me.

Oh, Pippin, how I miss you.

Hi, kel, thank you so much for sharing with us how you're doing. This grief journey is a very difficult adjustment to not having our beloved companions' precious physical presence with us. During the deep grief our hearts literally feel like they are breaking from the seering pain and the loneliness and the emptiness. It wouldn't matter if our earthly journey with our companions was as long as ours - - for we would always want just one more minute, one more hour, one more day - - one more lifetime. The good news for us to hold onto is that we will be reunited with our companons in eternal joy at our appropriate time. But for now we are blessed with their sweet Living Spirit in our hearts and our memories - - for they are always a heartbeat close to us.

Like you I worked on memorial scrapbooks for each of my companions. From my experience, if I may make a suggestion - - which you probably are already doing - - just work on it when and as you feel up to it. And I hope as you continue to work on your scrapbook that you will feel your beloved Pippin's sweet Living Spirit beside you sharing each of the memories you have made - - and continue to make - - during your earthly journey.

Kel, I hope you will have a very peaceful evening blessed with your beloved Pippin's sweet Living Spirit to comfort you. Please know you are in my thoughts and prayers, and that I look forward to knowing how you're doing and to sharing your treasured memories of your beloved Pippin.

Peace and blessings,
moon_beam

Moon_beam, thank you so much for your reply.

Tomorrow is a difficult day. It marks 8 weeks since Pippin died. I still miss him oh so very much. I miss his little 'mrrt' of greeting. I miss his barging into my bathroom whenever I was in there (fresh boy!). I miss him winding around my ankles while I was getting his dinner ready. I miss him sleeping on my hip. I miss watching him run after treats. I miss his life, his joy and his exuberance. I miss his utter devotion to me, and mine to him. I miss carrying him in my arms, his paws draped over my shoulder. I miss his white tummy and his tuxedo spats. I miss looking into his eyes and knowing he understood me. I even miss worrying about whether or not he was going to get better, because then at least he was still with me. I miss the trust he had in me, letting me check his blood sugar and hold him in my arms like a baby while I did. I miss hearing him meow with a puffball in his mouth outside my bedroom door, only to spit it out and look up at me with those huge, golden eyes and beg for play in the middle of the night. I wish I had indulged him more. I miss the sound of his purr. I miss watching him lift his chin to have it scratched. I miss scratching his chin.

Oh my little Pippin, I miss you so. I hope you are happy, wherever you are now. I hope there is no pain. I hope there is a field of puffballs for you to play with, and a giant fountain for you to drink from. I hope that every meal is your favorite. I hope that remember me, and that you know I would have given anything to keep you with me. I hope that you aren't angry at me for trying so hard, for so long to keep you with me. I hope that I didn't just keep you around for selfish reasons. I know you fought so hard to stay with me. I know you tried. You were so brave and strong, and I wish I had half of your courage, baby boy. I'll always love you.

We have been through the same thing overe the decades. The horrible choice at the end, our Stewardship dues, the 'Job" we agree to when we bring an animal friend home.

But Pippin did you one last favor. Over the many years we have had animal friends, we learned they are experts at reading people, and reveal many things, serving as lie detectors, or reactions of people towards animals in general can be very revealing.

Year ago, we had a "Ghost Cat", Molly, who was born feral. She hid when strangers came. She hated them.
At the time, a company wanted to buy a product line of mine. The Company President flew in, and came to the house to discuss it.
This was a big deal for me, and there was a lot of worry. "Can I trust this guy? Can I believe him? Will he screw me?, etc."
So we were talking, he was sitting on the couch, Molly walked up to him, gave him a sniff, and curled up purring in his lap.
OK, that was enough. We signed the deal. Over the years, it has been a fair and good relationship, to our mutual benefit.

When vendors visit or make deliveries, Ignatius and Zacchary interview them. Their judgements have never been wrong.
The way they interact with unknown humans tells us all we need to know. Perhaps people will think this is narrow minded...I do not care.
Anyone who has contempt for animals is so fundamentally flawed that I will not conduct business with them, if they gave me stuff for free.
I do not even want to know them.

If your boss cannot have compassion for the loss of a friend...Fire Him.

Hi, Kel, thank you so very much for sharing with us how you're doing, and your beautiful love letter to your beloved Pippin. The angel-versaries are very hard particularly during the deep grief when all we desperately want is to hold them one more time, to look into their eyes one more time, and on and on and on. The truth of the matter is is that our earthly journey with our companions is never long enough - - for we will always want just one more minute, one more hour, one more day, - - one more lifetime with them.

This grief journey is both a physical and emotional adjustment to the physical absence of our companions. It helped me to hold something that belongs to my beloved companion when the physical ache to hold them became very unbearable during the deep grief. I slept with their collar under my pillow and held tightly onto a blanket or toy when the waves of deepest sorrow would overwhelm and consume me. No, it can never replace the blessing of holding their precious physical body in my arms - - but it served as a bridge to hold something that belongs to them in my arms that ached to hold them. Eventually as the deep grief eases so will the physical pain of separation. Some folks are afraid that when this happens that they are forgetting their beloved companion. Please let me try to reassure you, Kel, that it will be IMPOSSIBLE for you to ever forget your beloved Pippin, for he is forever a part of you. Not even the dimming of our minds with age can we ever forget our beloved companions.

I hope today is treating you kindly, Kel. Thank you so very much for sharing your and your beloved Pippin's 2 month angel-versary with us. Please know you are in my thoughts and prayers, Kel, and look forward to knowing how you're doing.

Peace and blessings,
moon_beam

Hello Kel, thanks for letting us know how you are doing. When I read your letter to Pippin tears started welling up in my eyes. Not to put down other cats, but the Tuxedos are VERY special. Just ask Jon730. Your Pippin sounds like such a sweet little boy. And I know what you mean about missing his white tummy. My Danny boy had a mostly white tummy, but it looked like he had his tuxedo 'jacket' buttoned in the middle. Danny had one tiny black spot on his left hind paw.
It is so hard when all the beautiful memories come flooding in and then we long for them and want them back. When I think long enough about Danny I can almost 'feel' his soft fur.

Your Pippin was a real special little boy. It is good to remember him, to tell his stories. I hope today is treating you kindly.

Hugs,
DannysMom

Jon,

Thank you so much for your comforting words and for sharing your story of your little interviewers! It was actually my first cat, Cleo, who saved me from marrying an abusive man, and who helped me confirm that my husband was The One. She hated first guy, and she just couldn't get enough of my DH. They really do read people, don't they?

As for my boss, well, other things have happened at work and he is no longer a manager. I kept my head down, and let things fall out as they would. I was comfortable with my actions and behavior, and I knew that I wasn't the one in the wrong. Pippin and the rest of my family - DH and the other kitties - were my priority, and I put them first. I would make the same choice, even if I lost my job from it. I think it is Pippin's gift to me, to see people for who they truly are, and not for who they pretend to be. Bless my little boy for that sacrifice that has shown me people's real selves.

Again, thank you, Jon. I hope, as moonbeam says, today is treating you well.

Moon_beam, thank you so much - as always - for your kind words and empathy. I actually have a stuffed version of Pippin that I sleep with every night. A couple years ago, my mother visited and we were shopping and saw this rotund, stuffed plush tuxedo cat, and we laughed and thought it looked just like Pippin. She went back, when I wasn't looking, and bought him for me. When Pippin was in the ICU (as he was so many times, my brave boy), I would sleep with the stuffed version of him and think of him. I sleep with him every night now, and even though I'm terrible about kicking covers onto the floor, losing pillows on the floor, no matter what I've managed to lose on the floor overnight, "Pippin" is still in my arms. It's not the same, but it does provide some comfort. And I'm tearing up and crying as I write this, oy.

I actually was able to laugh and smile, with my husband, last night about Pippin. I struggled during the three months he was ill about whether we were doing the right thing or if we were torturing him and should have just let him go. I sat down and sobbed, so many times, "I can't do this anymore." And now I feel terrible for saying that, and I hope Pippin didn't hear me and decide not to stay because of it. Logically, I know it wasn't his choice, but I still can't help but ask - did he leave because he thought I didn't want to take care of him? I only meant that I just wanted him not to be ill. I wanted him to be stable, and not in and out of the kitty ICU every 2-3 weeks. I wanted his blood sugars to stabilize so he could be happy and feel good. I didn't mind any of the care I had to give him: blood sugars, insulin injections, pills, subQ fluids, making sure I was home at midnight after work to give him his insulin, and making sure he ate and didn't vomit afterward, giving him his anti-nausea shots when he needed them... I didn't mind cleaning up the chronic diarrhea from the pancreatitis and then the antibiotics he was on, and I didn't mind when he had accidents because he couldn't quite get into the litterbox fast enough. I didn't mind any of it. I just wanted to stop worrying that he was going to die. And then he did. I feel so, so, so guilty.

But yesterday, I remembered that those three months, even if he was in and out of the ICU, he was a happy cat. He started playing again, in between all the treatments. He ran around with his tail up, all perky. He mrrted at us and begged for play - he even did jumpy play, which he hadn't done in a while before we realized he had diabetes. He got to eat all his favorite wet foods, especially near the end when we just wanted to make sure he was eating - and eat he did! He was happy, playing, eating and loving us the very morning of the day we took him to the emergency vet for the last time, before his stay at Tufts. I had gotten the day off work because we didn't have enough patients and I wasn't needed, and I spent the afternoon playing with him. I guess, if I had to lose him, I couldn't ask for more. This is what my husband and I were talking about - how happy he was for those three months, and how he acted like he did when he was healthy. Not only that, but Pippin adored the staff at the animal hospital he went to, and they were all head over heels in love with him. I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but they'd do their morning and evening rounds in the ICU with Pippin in their arms, paws over their shoulders. One doctor, Dr. Silk, was his girlfriend. I'm pretty sure he had a crush on her, and she adored him. And Liz, the nurse who took care of him with the internal medicine vet we worked that, was in tears when we took him from there to Tufts and told him she loved him, and emailed me a couple times during his few days on dialysis to tell me she was praying for him. I made sure that in his last moments in his arms, I told Pippin that Liz loved him too. Even at Tufts, they adored him. And I know they're supposed to say that, but we got three whole cards with hand-written notes from the residents and dialysis techs and vet students who were taking care of him. You could really see, as they were all saying goodbye to him, that they felt a genuine affection for my little guy. He talked to them while he was on dialysis, and they talked back - they had conversations. I know I'm a kitty parent and I'm supposed to think this, but I really feel like Pippin touched so many lives, even if only for a few days. I suspect I'm not the only one who won't forget him.

I'm crying right now, but I'm also smiling. I guess that's a step in the right direction.

Thank you for listening.

Thank you, Danny's Mom. It is nice to remember their stories, and to share them. The other day at work, we were talking about animals getting overly amorous, and I just had to laugh because Pippin really got into his play, even though he was neutered. He would chase my husband around and try to have his way with my husband's foot - especially when my husband wasn't looking! It was nice to laugh about something Pippin did, instead of sobbing because I miss him. And of course I miss him - I'm in tears now - but it was good to tell a part of his story... a part of his story that wasn't the days surrounding his death.

Pippin was very special, and I know what you mean about almost feeling their soft fur. Pippin's tummy fur was so soft, and he only let me pet it. He'd invite my husband to pet it, but then it was time for the Claws and Jaws of Doom. Me, though? I could rub his tummy all I wanted. He was certainly a mama's boy.

Over the weekend, I was driving to work, and really missing Pippin. I believe that his brother Horatio has come back to us, in our Earl Grey. Maybe that sounds crazy, but Earl bears an eerie resemblance to Horatio, and he does things that Horatio did - that our other cats never do. The silent meow. The same squeaky voice Horatio had. The way he and Karma touched noses when they first met, when we expected Karma to flip out over another male cat in the house, like they knew each other... I could go on and on. And I guess I like to think that if my husband's soul cat, Horatio, can come back, maybe my Pippin will too someday. But that day, driving to work, I wasn't believing it. I was sure Pippin is gone forever. But then there's this song that keeps playing on the radio more often than I'd expect, as I'm flipping through the channels - Perfect, by Pink. "Pretty, pretty please, don't you ever, ever feel like you're less than, less than perfect. Pretty, pretty please, if you ever ever feel like you're nothing, you are perfect to me." It took hearing that song multiple times on my way to and from work that weekend to realize that if Pippin could talk to me, he might very well say that. Is that crazy?

Of course, going back and reading all this, I realize I sound... a little crazy. Meh. Friday was the 8-week anniversary of his death, but today's the two month anniversary. Sorry for the crazies.

Kel

Thank you for letting us know how you are doing.

Although the grief journey is long and sometimes hard it is something we go through because of the love we have for our babies. You already showing just how much you love your pippin as you said although you wish your baby was here you would rather he was in heaven not in pain then back because you need him but still in pain. That takes a lot to say but just shows the love you had /have for him.

I think we all wish we could magic grief away but I a starting to see it as a tribute to my Chewy now. If we just got on with it after losing out pets I believe we would be ignoring the years of love we had with them.

I hope you are being treated well today.

xxForeverxx

What is it about the Tuxedos that they like their tummies rubbed? Danny LOVED tummy rubs. I'd sometimes only have to touch his hind paws and he would readily roll over and show me his beautiful tummy with the soft and fluffy fur. And he would roll his head back and forth in sheer enjoyment. Mindy, my tux girl, also likes tummy rubs, but she is still such a tiny little thing compared to Danny.

I'm having a tough time right now. I dreamt about Pippin the other night, for almost the first time since he died. It was a good dream. And then I woke up and he wasn't here, but it was okay - I felt like, crazy as it may sound, I'd gotten to spend some time with my guy. I know, logically, that I didn't, but that's how it felt.

Tonight's harder, though. I got home from work around 1 AM, and if Pippin were still here, I'd have been feeding them and watching him carefully to make sure he didn't vomit before I gave his insulin. So tonight I fed the kitties, and I decided to give them a little extra treat. I sprinkled some fresh catnip leaves on their favorite flavor of wet food, and they loved it. And then I started thinking of all the special little things I did for Pippin, to make him eat and to try to make sure he knew I loved him: a little bit of tuna here, a piece of chicken there, tuna flakes on his food to see if he'd eat it... All I could do was just sit on the floor and cry, because - as we all have been through so many times - just one more time, please. One more time. But I don't get that, and that just stinks.

And now I'm kicking myself for thinking when he got sick that I'd be able to fix him - to manage his care - to keep my precious boy alive and with me. How could I have been so foolish to think that I'd get to keep something so dear to me?

Kel, my heart aches for you. It's easy to see how much you love Pippin and how much you wanted him to get well again. You are a nurse, and Pippin was your dearest patient, and it's got to hurt so much when you try to hard and try everything that you can think of and in the end the patient dies. Please don't kick yourself. You did the best you could, and that is all you can do. The rest is simply not in your hands. I wish I could make your hurt go away. The grief journey is hard and takes a toll on us. Please take good care of yourself.

Hugs,
DannysMom

Thank you for your reply, Danny'sMom. You're right; that is a huge part of what tears me apart about losing Pippin. If you looked at what he started out with, on paper, there was NO reason he should be dead three months later. I still don't fully understand what happened, and I'm trying to accept that I may never understand it, but I find that very hard. And I try not to feel like a failure and blame myself for not being able to save him, but again, I'm finding that hard. Logically, I know that I did everything I could, and more than most would/could for him. I don't like to accept that it was so far out of my control.

I guess the good thing is that seven and a half years ago, a little tuxedo kitten fell into my hands (and my DH's). If that hadn't happened, he would never have had a fighting chance. Those last three months were filled with fear and stress, but they were also filled with love, as my husband and I made a conscious effort to cherish every moment we had with Pippin. I'm so glad we did.

Thanks again, Danny's Mom.