I’m not sure how much longer I can continue to do this work.  I don’t feel the same light I used to, the same desire to be that light.  I still want people to be happy and to heal but I can’t continue to carry this weight while I am this torn, frayed, in pain.  I’ve recently shared the issues that were/are going on with my husband but I haven’t shared the issues with my soul.  I’ve kept no secret regarding my lack of self-esteem, my struggle to even like myself, and I’m sure you’ve all read between the lines and noticed the co-dependency issues.  Well, as I’ve sought love, there was always one unconditional source no matter what—my animals.  I relied on them for emotional support and stability, an outlet, a place I could place all of my love and whatever feelings I had and they never once judged—they openly loved back.  Then I met Loki, my gorgeous Maine Coon.  That animal brought that love to the next level.  Mischievous and playful, loping, huge, loving, and such a gentle giant, that animal is something else.

There are souls in these animals and some of them resonate and cling with our own soul.  This creature, from day one, was literally my protector, puffing up when he didn’t like someone, the first one to greet me every day, the one to plop next to me when I was in any type of pain—who carried me through the loss of my second child, the one to sleep with me every night no matter where I was in the house, a solid presence of endless love and acceptance.  He had some behavior shifts with eating a few months ago and I instantly knew something was wrong because this cat hasn’t had an issue eating in his entire life.  I thought it was a tooth and during the course of discovery, we found it was potentially something more, Protein Losing Enteropathy.  He continued to deteriorate, losing weight, until finally I had to take him to a specialist.  They found a mass in his intestines.  Even initial testing on that was cautiously optimistic as they found no evidence of cancer in the aspirate they took.  But he progressively got worse, losing more weight, so even if this was benign it needed to come out.

I met with the surgeon and she immediately said it was cancer but my brain couldn’t wrap around that because we hadn’t confirmed anything the day before—I was confused with the sudden switch. We went from cautiously optimistic with the IM doctor to definitely cancer within 17 hours. Of course she stated it was about 10-15 thousand for the surgery– and that isn’t something I could swing.  She said even if I could spend that money there wasn’t a guarantee he would make it.  Distraught, I called his regular vet back and asked if they’d be willing to even open him up, take a hail Mary, and just cut it out of him.  They said yes and at a significantly better price.  We had to get him through the weekend but they would do it and let me/us know what happened in surgery.  He was so tired and I knew he was hurting because he was struggling to get comfortable anywhere, but I had hope the entire thing was benign.  He sat with me on the couch, even managed to jump to his old spot, he came into the bathroom with me like he always does when I’m showering.  Again, I know it wasn’t necessarily a sign of recovery, but I thought there was hope.  I brought him in to the vet, still distraught, but clinging to the chance—we even had cicadas on the house again, a sign of good luck for me. 

Two hours later I got the call from my husband—they said they hadn’t been able to reach me—and I knew something was wrong.  He was unable to merge the call with the vet but he relayed to me that it was indeed cancer and it had spread to both his large and small intestine, and the spot that would have been used to “repair” it was compromised as well.  Loki was simply too far gone and even removing it he would likely only survive a week.  They recommended allowing him to stay under anesthesia and to put him to sleep right then.  I had been on my way to work because I was so determined this would be ok.  I had cautiously said my goodbyes and I love yous that morning, but no one is ever ready.  But we knew we couldn’t wake him up, take him home, and then repeat this process later.  So we opted to follow the recommendation.  When I say my heart shattered, I mean it felt like my entire soul was ripped from my body. This is not just a cat. 

The day before, Sunday, I had been in the yard and there was a dragonfly behaving unlike any I’d ever seen—I have film of it for over a minute and a half flying around the back yard, running the same path.  I thought it was a sign of protection.  Then Monday happened and I felt such a flood of confusion and pain.  Monday evening the entire family was outside because it was struggle to even get in the house without losing it.  It had first been Chris and I mourning and then CJ came out—he had been relatively ok the entire time, playing with his friends.  When CJ came outside I could see he was crying and I thought he got hurt and then he broke down bawling that he missed Loki.  And that sent all of us over the edge.  We allowed him to throw water bottles, to scream, to yell, to cry uncontrollably.  We wanted to do the same thing.  We all wanted to run away.  We literally talked about selling the house and just leaving.  We know it was fight or flight, but the entire world seemed upside down, the clouds were off, the sun appeared to be coming from a different direction—reality was not as it should be and we knew it never would be the same again.  It still won’t be.  And then as we sat there a small dragonfly flitted down and got stuck in a spider web.  I immediately grabbed it and set it free.  Dragonflies represent illusion, change, transformation—and air.  The cat was an air sign, an Aquarius, and seeing the cicadas, the dragonflies, saving the one, all while the storm blew in told me he was still present—and I lost it all over again.

This is still incredibly fresh, he hasn’t even been gone 24 hours yet as I write this. And I am hurting fiercely.  We all are. We spent the entire night, all three of us, together in bed.  It wasn’t the same as when Loki would climb up to sleep with me, but we have each other.  Sunday night the cat curled up with me and I put my arms around him like I always do, grabbed his paws and rubbed them.  He placed his head on my hand in a way he never had before, and I felt a surge of fear, like he knew he was near the end.  He probably did, and always my protector, he was probably trying to act like his old self that entire day.  He was so tired and I know he was hurting, and no matter how much I hurt now, I take the smallest bit of solace that he ISN’T hurting now.  I have no idea what comes next.  I don’t know what life looks like without him.  This house feels so incredibly quiet, like he was the heart of it, and now it’s silent. We had 9 years with him, 9 years of profound, authentic, all encompassing love.  I know in my heart that even if we had 90 more it wouldn’t have been enough.  But this just wasn’t enough.  When we went and saw his body, the tech asked if we wanted more time with him and my husband said, “It’s not the time I want, I want time with him here.”  I don’t understand what happened because it happened fast, but I know all I can react to is where we are at now, and we are all very present with the pain.  And I can’t fix it.  I can’t fix any of it.

I know we will move on at some point…well maybe not move on, but we will form a scar over this wound.  It’s going to take a lot of time.  But it’s hard to see the light right now, even harder to be the light.  These last few months have been an emotional roller coaster unlike anything I’ve ever been through.  I feel broken and I don’t see the point.  Normally sharing gives me solace, now I am completely inundated with grief and confusion.  And emptiness.  It really does feel empty right now.  There was before, and now there is an unknown after.  I need to find what makes me feel like me again, heal the wounds of losing my child, my self-esteem, my confidence, accept the lessons and losses, and find myself without that level of attachment because that guide is gone from this place. But I still consider myself blessed to have had that animal because he was solid ground in a time when I could barely stand.  I can’t say I will keep looking for the light right now, but I know I at least need to try and walk again.  So that’s where I’m at. There has been too much loss lately and it feels really empty here.  But I still wake up, and I’m here.  And we have no choice but to see what happens next.