today, today is better.
I'm a roller coaster, ready to fly off the tracks, ready to stay gripping tightly.
I guess that's to be expected.
I've never been one to have consistency in my emotional endeavours.
The anger has subsided for now.  As has the isolation.
I forced myself from bed today. Three days should be long enough right?
I had to get up. I had to go pay my vet. She's so amazing. When I called her Tuesday afternoon, in tears, begging for some kind of reassurance because Smokey had deteriorated so quickly, she simply told me to come in the next day. She cleared her morning for me. She said I could pay later, she didn't even hesitate.
And when she saw how fragile Smokey had become, how listless and somber she was, she put her hand on my shoulder and gave me the options I already knew I would have to weigh.
Everyone who knows me, knows how much I love that cat. Knows how much I sacrificed and how much I poured my life into her, making sure she was taken care of. Through this, I've never felt like I've had to justify my decisions regarding her health to anyone. no one has ever made me feel like I didn't do enough, or didn't try enough of the options - except myself.
I suppose I've moved on to the bargaining stage in this grief process. I supposed I'm only a few hours away from depression. But I think I'm doing this out of order. Maybe on purpose. Maybe not.
Sarah, the front desk girl at my vet, greeted me with such kindness today. She sent Smokey's paw prints in the mail yesterday. Her ashes should be back sometime early next week.
I wrote her and Dr Leger a thank you letter, to make sure they knew how much I appreciated them, and how much I appreciated that they cared about my cat. Sarah cried with me in the exam room while I was making the decisions about her ashes.
She'll be a tree in the spring. A big apple tree at the farm, overlooking the valley. She would like it there. Lots of rabbits to chase, lots of lazy time in the sun.
I still can't move her food dishes. I can't even look at two of her favorite sleeping spots. I still expect to see her walk around the corner, I still go looking for her when I come in the door. I don't think I'll ever stop looking for her.
The blanket she died in, her twilight blanket that she slept on nearly every day, it's still sitting on my bed, still wet from tears.
When we were preparing for the final injection to let her go peacefully, my vet offered to get me a big comfy blanket for her. I refused. Smokey wanted to stay in her twilight blanket, on team Jacob to the very end. She laughed with me and said "Of course she's team Jacob, have you seen that boy with his shirt off?"
and I, still the joking spirit even in time of crisis replied that I didn't like boys, and was always team Edward.
Without missing a beat she laughed at me and said Of course you are, he looks like a chick.
It was that kind of humor, that kind of personal touch that made it almost easier.
but when she put her stethoscope to Smokey's chest and confirmed with the words "She's gone"
I become gone too.
I'm still trying to rationalize things. trying to justify to myself that I did right by my bitten. Still trying to eek out some coping in the midst of all the anger and sadness.
I'm so lucky to have my three best friends rally so hard around me. forcing me out of isolation. Forcing me into conversation and laughter. Forcing me to hold onto a piece of myself, becoming a new sort of tether to the world.
My therapist made a good point to me today, The amount of suffering you do, does not need to be equal to the amount of loving. You don't need to suffer, to prove you love.
It helps, to some degree. It inspires to some degree too.
Though I've already donated in her memory to a charity of my vets choosing, I feel very compelled to start a foundation for elderly cats and owners. Ones who can't afford medication and treatment, or for those elderly cats who don't get fostered or adopted because they are past the cute prime of their lives. In memory of Smokey. The Smokey foundation, or something similar.
It's all preliminary of course. Ideas floating around in my head. Wanting to do something for her memory that isn't just sleeping for 14 hours a day and sobbing the other 10.
Just ideas floating here and there today. Today is better.