Grief

Putting into words what grief currently feels like would be a pointless exercise, I feel empty and hollow on my worst days - devoid of all purpose and my usual hobbies bring me no joy. On the better days, I can feel grateful for what we had with Angel and realise how lucky we are to have cared for such a wonderfully loving cat well into her senior years. 

That is the thing about grief, it doesnt just end. It lingers and festers in little memories that felt happier before and now create little rocky lumps in your chest when you think about them. I still keep the bathroom door ajar when using it so Angel can poke her head in, I still swivel around on my desk chair when writing (or trying to write) to get her input, I still roll over carefully in bed knowing she might be between Tan and myself and I still hear her knocking around when I sit quietly in the flat. Her memory is still here, that energy of absolute love doesnt just evaporate the second they leave our lives. 

I dont want to feel this way, but in the same breath, I know that this feeling of absolute sorrow is just another part of the adoption journey. It is the part we all ignore and push into the silent shadowy bits of our mind, but it is still a part of any loving bond. I knew Angel was on the older side when I brought her wrinkly little pudgy head home, when I watched her exercise using her little platforms Tanya built I saw her eager to live again and now she has left our physical space - I feel nothing but a selfish desire for "one more day" with her pawing at my legs. One more evening of little purring squeeks while I gave her bum rubs or head scratches. I just miss my cat.