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Dec. 22nd, 2019 05:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
corvidualityI did it, today.
I held her as she died, and I felt her head slowly go limp; I'm still trying to un-hear the vet saying "She's gone."
I'm not here to write about that, though. I don't need a record of how sad I am.
I once again need somewhere to express feelings I can't share with anyone else.
I hate that my mother had to be there. So very much.
And it makes me grit my fucking teeth to remember even for a second how she let out that stupid goddamn cry. I was sitting there, sobbing quietly over my cat, trying to let the moment pass with dignity, and she lets out this fucking whimpering sob, and I just wanted to leave. I guess it reminds me too much of when she would cry in frustration over how much she was exasperated with kid-me, so maybe I associate that noise with unfairness and loneliness?
I'm aware that it's almost comical how ungrateful I'm being: nothing fills me with more rage at this moment than remembering that sobbing noise, and that she saw me break down and cry. It infuriates me. I'm so absurdly disgusted by her. I'm weird, I guess.
I wish so desperately that this had been mine and the cat's alone. I wish it had been just me with Penne in that room, that I could have said what I did without her in the room.
At least she had my father dig a grave for Penne, thankfully. I had to convince her, because I knew that if I lost my cat and was given back a pile of ashes, I'd lose it.
They stuck her in a pillow case before they put her in the ground, though. I hate that; I avoided watching the actual burial, not just because my stomach twisted at the idea that they might get sappy, but because there's something about putting a white sheet over her that disturbs me. Hiding death beneath a sheet, or under the lid of a coffin, or in a body bag is just...not right. There's something not right about it. It makes it look like a murder scene we're trying to cover up, instead of returning her to the earth.
I felt like that about a lot of things about memorializing her. Mother suggested planting flowers over her in the spring, so I could cut and put in my room to, "feel like she's there", but I didn't want that. I want her to stay out there. I don't want to taint her memory and the dignity of her death by trying to metaphorically "dig her back up". She's gone. Trying to act like she's not only makes it worse.
I'm going to avoid them for the next few days the best I can. I'm glad they see this as my way of coping; it's nice to be able to have an excuse to avoid them.
Bye, Penne. I love you dearly. Whatever happens, you were my cat before anyone else's, and I know you felt it too.
I held her as she died, and I felt her head slowly go limp; I'm still trying to un-hear the vet saying "She's gone."
I'm not here to write about that, though. I don't need a record of how sad I am.
I once again need somewhere to express feelings I can't share with anyone else.
I hate that my mother had to be there. So very much.
And it makes me grit my fucking teeth to remember even for a second how she let out that stupid goddamn cry. I was sitting there, sobbing quietly over my cat, trying to let the moment pass with dignity, and she lets out this fucking whimpering sob, and I just wanted to leave. I guess it reminds me too much of when she would cry in frustration over how much she was exasperated with kid-me, so maybe I associate that noise with unfairness and loneliness?
I'm aware that it's almost comical how ungrateful I'm being: nothing fills me with more rage at this moment than remembering that sobbing noise, and that she saw me break down and cry. It infuriates me. I'm so absurdly disgusted by her. I'm weird, I guess.
I wish so desperately that this had been mine and the cat's alone. I wish it had been just me with Penne in that room, that I could have said what I did without her in the room.
At least she had my father dig a grave for Penne, thankfully. I had to convince her, because I knew that if I lost my cat and was given back a pile of ashes, I'd lose it.
They stuck her in a pillow case before they put her in the ground, though. I hate that; I avoided watching the actual burial, not just because my stomach twisted at the idea that they might get sappy, but because there's something about putting a white sheet over her that disturbs me. Hiding death beneath a sheet, or under the lid of a coffin, or in a body bag is just...not right. There's something not right about it. It makes it look like a murder scene we're trying to cover up, instead of returning her to the earth.
I felt like that about a lot of things about memorializing her. Mother suggested planting flowers over her in the spring, so I could cut and put in my room to, "feel like she's there", but I didn't want that. I want her to stay out there. I don't want to taint her memory and the dignity of her death by trying to metaphorically "dig her back up". She's gone. Trying to act like she's not only makes it worse.
I'm going to avoid them for the next few days the best I can. I'm glad they see this as my way of coping; it's nice to be able to have an excuse to avoid them.
Bye, Penne. I love you dearly. Whatever happens, you were my cat before anyone else's, and I know you felt it too.
