On grieving
Ivy Griffin
2016 ended with a bang for me. Unfortunately, it was not that of fireworks or a champagne bottle. My sweet, handsome 15 year old cat, Noche, had to be put to sleep. His kidneys were failing, and despite many tests and treatments, the vets still weren’t sure what was going wrong and couldn’t stop it. My heart felt like it was ripped out of me. Just 2 weeks prior Noche had gotten a great bill of health from the vet. As an older kitty, he had his share of health conditions, but they were being treated, and he seemed to be doing great. Imagine my shock, then, when we were out of town for the holidays, and my pet-sitter called to say Noche wasn’t eating. Thus began a week long roller coaster of vet phone calls, appointments, debate about whether to come home early, hospitalization, improvement and then rapid decline, all of which ended with my husband and I sitting at the vet’s office on the last day of the year holding my very sick boy for the last time.
I am crying as I write this. I miss him so much, and I still can’t believe that he’s gone. I also realize that as a highly sensitive person, I feel these emotions intensely. As an HSP and a therapist, I find myself noticing my feelings and naming the stages of grief as they come and go.
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