“Yes, I do,” I replied, not because I had reason to believe my beloved cat was terminally ill, but because I was scared the way all parents get when one of their kids is ailing.
I wanted Dickens to get better quickly, so I would feel better, too.
And then a word EXPLODED in my brain – PATIENCE!!!
I wanted to ignore it, but I couldn’t. I knew exactly what I was being told. This was Dickens’ journey, and it wasn’t my place to move things along just so I could find some peace. My part in his journey was to be there by his side, as I had been for the last twelve years, offering love and reassurance, letting him know that whatever unfolded I would be there for him.
And now Dickens is gone.
When you write books for animal lovers who have suffered a loss you know very well that grief, too, is a journey, and it can’t be hurried, either. I’m only just discovering that Dickens’ journey with illness and my journey with grieving are very much the same. They are both about healing…and healing takes time.
I’m flooded with all the memories of my sweet boy. Dickens was a talkative cat. When he wanted anything he would speak VERY loudly, just to be certain I got the message. His three sisters were never as vocal.
So my home is awfully quiet now…very, very quiet.
Except for something odd that happened the other day…
To be continued.