6 months later...

 

No one really acknowledges the long-term anguish that can come when you lose a furry loved one.  The fact that 6 months has already passed astonishes me since it feels like yesterday that Roy was with me.  It also feels like I haven’t been able to hold him for eternity.  The emotional toll of not having Roy fill my life is always unraveling and I still cannot talk about him without crying.  Even writing this is an incredible challenge.

When Roy first died, I was in shock and had trouble fully comprehending he was gone.  Immediately after, my other cat Loki was diagnosed with early stage kidney disease and then I was leaving for Florida for an internship.  I was leaving everything that reminded me of Roy behind, except for the small tin that contained his ashes.  They came along for the ride.

In Florida, I was also pretty busy, but mostly the lack of privacy stopped me from really processing my loss further.  I was sharing a 2-bedroom apartment with 5 others and there was no time to myself.  Although there were times I would cry in my car, or alone on the beach, I mostly kept the emotions hidden inside me.

One my 3-week road trip home, I was too distracted by the beauty of nature and the intrigue of new areas.   I was living in an amazing time where I felt truly alive and experiencing the world in a new way.  I was having too much personal growth to allow sorrow to interfere.

If Roy was not on my shoulder, he was sitting on my side like a Koala Bear.  So cute!

But then I got home.  The empty apartment was just a reminder of what was missing- Roy’s meows and cuddles and mischief.  Every time I went to the grocery store and saw corn I was holding back tears (and it’s corn season).  I was alone and not distracted and it felt awful.  

I really miss him.  And thinking back, I can’t help to question if I ended his life too soon.  I need to constantly look through photos of his life towards the end to remind myself that he was in pain.  Roy’s last day was a good one, which is many ways is great.  It’s better to go out on a positive note, right?  But that is also where the questioning comes in, because there is no clear answer to when the time is right.  If there is no questioning, you probably waited too long.  I read somewhere that looking back on the decision of euthanasia, no one ever says they did it too early, just too late.  Unfortunately that is not always true.

The other day marked 6 months since I lost Roy.  The reality of it all hit me hard and hasn’t left.  I am trying to remember to celebrate the life I had with him, and re-read this blog post about him and am watching my videos of him eating corn. There is no getting over this- just moving on and remembering his spirit.  I am sure years from now I will still laugh at his antics and cry from missing him.  I am sure I will always wonder if my decision was a good one, but that is the unbearable consequence about being responsible for another’s life and loving them so completely.

I wanted to write about this so others going through such loss can know that it completely normal.  Many of my friends recently lost animals and are struggling to move on.  It is also important for family and friends to support those who animal died, including weeks and months past the immediate loss. So often people suffer in silence with their loss, and it is difficult when people don’t recognize the pain that can continue.  Usually this loss hits weeks to months later, when most people would not think about asking if you are okay.  I don’t know all the answers since I am still trying to figure out how to move past the heavy feelings of loss to simply celebrating my time with Roy, but I am appreciative of the few people in my life that have been supportive and understanding.  

Roy' paw prints, taken a few months before he died.  I plan to get a version of this tattooed on my left shoulder blade- where he would often have his paws while cuddling on my shoulder.

Part 1: The end of a life

 

I am not even sure how to begin to talk about Roy. I will say that losing him has been impossible. Roy was euthanized a little over a week ago. It was the single most difficult decision in my life. He was not the classic case of not eating, immobile, or hiding. The day it happened he asked to go outside and enjoyed the sun, tried to spray on some bushes, and thought about sneaking in an open window. He had moments where he would purr madly on my shoulder or forcefully meow asking for something. 

Unfortunately most of his time he was in discomfort, constantly moving about trying to find a position he could find comfort in. He was on pain meds, first once a day, then all the time. He would sometimes stare off in the distance, dead in his eyes, but awake. I need to say these things to remind myself of their truth, because once you follow through on that decision, every part of you just wants them back in your arms. So you question your decision and forget the reality of the situation. 

Almost a year ago, I noticed Roy was losing a lot of weight and spent a considerable amount of time in a bookshelf cubbyhole near a heating vent. A vet eventually diagnosed him with an abdominal mass. Surgery was not an option, so I started Roy on steroids. Luckily the steroids seemed to keep the growth at bay and he gained his weight and strength. He was doing great for a really long time! Obviously the growth was not an aggressive type. 

About 6 months later, Roy started to have completely different symptoms related to his throat. His high pitched and loud meows went really quite and weak, he had some weird swallowing and things I now can’t remember. The vet thought he may have voice box cancer, but a definite diagnosis would require a surgery that could potentially kill him, so obviously not worth it. I just monitored him and tried my best to keep him comfortable. 

Eventually I noticed that Roy was fighting with me about taking his medications. He had never done that before. In the morning he knew I would medicate him before I left and he started to run away from me. It was heart breaking. He was also acting in discomfort often and started to frequent the cubbyhole in the bookshelf again. I made the tough decision to stop his oral medications, since I realized they were probably causing him considerable pain when he swallowed. 

At first the lack of medications made him come alive! He was playing again and being frisky and causing trouble, just like the good old days. He was always very affectionate, but he wanted to be held even more and cuddled up more than ever. It was great, until I noticed the shaking in his front arms while standing. Then, losing balance of his back legs on occasion. Not falling or anything, but he was off. With time, he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable just sitting around. He shifted his weight often. It was obvious he had trouble finding comfort.

It is hard because you always wonder what you could have done differently to keep your baby alive. Or to make sure they had the best life possible. Or be in the least amount of pain. There are no right or wrong answers, but there are always those lingering questions.  I know I made the best decisions I could have given the information I had in front on me.  I know that I loved Roy more than imaginable, and the last thing I wanted was for him to be gone, just as he is now. But the only thing I know for sure is I miss him tremendously. 

The day it happened, I had a vet come to the house. Roy hated to travel and the vet office, so I didn’t want to put him through that. It was more expensive but definitely worth it. He was able to die on his favorite chair with the comforts of his life around him. My cat Loki was able to come into the room and see the body afterwards, to allow his own processing of what happened. Roy and Loki were not really friends. In fact, Roy kind of bullied him. A part of me expected Loki to be excited, since he could finally get a lot of attention. But I think Loki is depressed. The loss of Roy has affected him more than I expected.

I chose a private cremation and I still have no idea what to do with the ashes. It is amazing how such a big personality could fit into such a small container. I created a memorial where he died of sympathy cards, his collar, flowers and the ashes. Most of me still can’t accept what happened, but it will hit me in waves. This usually happens unexpectedly and at inconvenient times. Even while watching the new movie “Lincoln”, a wave of sadness hit me. President Lincoln laid down next to his son and this made me tear up thinking of all the times I laid next to Roy with such affection. Just watching Juncos feed on the sidewalk, I was reminded of life and death and started to cry for Roy. Being able to leave water glasses out, or the toilet seat up or clothes on the floor without the worry of Roy tipping it over, or drinking from it, or peeing on it- has all made me cry.  

Roy was an awesome cat. He had such a demanding presence and got into trouble a lot. But no matter how much he pissed me off, I loved him unconditionally. I would often tell him the most mushy crap imaginable while holding him over my left should listening to his purrs placed perfectly over my ear. I will miss him forever, but my life has also gained instrumentally from having him in my life. No matter how difficult the euthanasia decision was, or how hard this grieving has and will be; I will never regret the love I shared with him.