I have been writing bits and pieces of this blogs for so many days because I’m still trying to piece all the facets of my grief together into a nice, well-spoken thought for this post. Truth? Not going to happen. And I’m not sure, no matter how eloquently we try to communicate about loss and grief and death, we really never can. Because the truth about it is that no matter how well you try to prepare yourself for it, the sting of it still invades you so fiercely and boldly you’re left suffocating in its reality. I have been angry for a very long time and I can only imagine that this is how so many people feel when they lose someone they love so deeply and so… unexpectedly. It feels like you got robbed. Of time and life and memory and goodness. It’s the most horrible feeling when time precludes your hopes, dreams and expectation. The only thing I find comfort in right now is that Madden is happy and healthy and so much enjoying the perfection of Heaven. And that I will see him again. Aside from those things, every other part of his death is angry and hasty and unfair to me. It stings even still. Madden’s death was two weeks ago yesterday and still I struggle to find peace. I still fully expect him to come trotting through the bathroom every morning when I get ready.
I felt so much peace when Jasmine died because she was old and had lived a long and happy life and I had time to prepare and say goodbye. I had known for months that her time was soon. Madden was taken in a week. The way the vet sent Jasmine into Heaven was slow and peaceful and beautiful. She fell asleep in my arms 30 minutes after the process started. Madden fell asleep on a piece of felt, looking into my eyes, me holding his paws and stroking his sweet head. Jasmine was 17. Mad was two. I have no peace about why or how Madden died. None. Something [I think] I know that time and God will heal.
While grief can be a tangled road, memory can bring pockets of joy and relief. So here are my best memories of my sweet boy.
He snuggled always. Whenever and for however long he could. He was the most loving and affectionate cat I think I’ve ever known. Ever.
He was a nut. He was clumsy as hell and I adored him for it. He tried to walk gracefully around things (as most cats do) and…. didn’t. Poor guy. My favorite memory of him is hard to describe in words… A couple of friends and I were watching a movie one night when he marched into a beam of light that was streaming into the hallway from the kitchen and just sat down. (he did everything with much certainty… more on that next.) Then, with an equal amount of confidence he called out two meows: one short and very high-pitched, the other lower and longer. If you knew him, you’d know how endearing this weird little broadcast of his was. 🙂
He was sure and confident. Like his declaration in the hallway, he always did everything without second thought or hesitation. Unlike any other cat I’ve lived with, Madden fully committed to everything he did: he spoke seldom but decidedly // he ‘flopped’ in front of my feet. he didn’t mess around with the weaving-her-ankles-to-entice-her-to-pet-me routine. nope. “here i am. pet me. i even laid down for you to make it easy.” // he wanted to snuggle, so he did. and made me adjust for optimal snuggling position. oh my love.
He loved his sister. Holy crap did he love her. Fin + Mad did everything together: play // snuggle // sleep // snacks // poop // yes, poop. same little box, same time. // that’s commitment. true love.
He loved pink. That’s all. And that was okay. No further comment.
He had the most killer crooked tail. Yep, total 90° angle. It’s one of the reasons why I chose him out of all his brothers. He rocked that tail… total badass. 😉
Crap. I can’t even try to list all the reasons I’m totally crazy about him. Just know, Mad, that we love you immensely and your absence is sorely known every minute of every day. They are long days. I’m sure that, sooner than we’d like, we’ll move forward and learn to live peacefully in our new normal. For now, I call Finley “Solo Kitty” because she’s only half of a whole. We miss you so much, Bubba, but are so so thankful that your body is strong and healthy again. You have been in Heaven one week and a day, but we feel your presence every second and cannot wait to see you again.
Big hug and big kiss, Mad. We love you so much… Momma & Finley