Rabbit Hole

I have lost pets before, mourned them, buried them. The fail-proof coping-with-grief mechanism I've used time and time again was to  

1) Take out of the album all the pictures of the dearly departed, put them all around the house in memory of the wonderful times the pet has blessed me with during its time and place in my life. I celebrate the sadness of its passing by remembering the joy of its life. I think my brother Kevin thinks me unfeeling and maybe a ghoul when I did that on my darling Rottie, Popeye's passing, never having seen me weep over Popeye. 

2) Get a new pet to replace the emotional hole.  

But this time, losing Sly when he hadn't even reached 2 years of age, when there ought to be so many more years to him. I literally fell apart. I cried long and when I was spent and have wiped my face, the tears came again. Taking out and looking at the pictures was a terrible idea. It started me weeping again. My grief seemed to tear out my very heart.  

I feel the pain right to my fingertips. When I lie down to sleep, my arms missed cuddling him and I cry again. When I wake up in the morning, I look for him but his place between Larry and I on the bed is jarringly empty. And I cry again.  

Now I understand how a parent feels when they outlive their child. The love you have invested is nothing compared to the hopes and dreams that have been crushed, dashed to pieces, never to be fulfilled. There is not enough of the great times to sustain the grief. The memory of the joy of the good times is quickly snuffed by the reality that he has not lived to his full measure.

After watching Rabbit Hole starring Nicole Kidman - about a woman who lost her 4-year-old son in a freak accident, I reread what I wrote in my private journal in May 2010 with horror and shame.

The cheek. The unholy audacity to compare a pet however beloved to a child, flesh of one's flesh, blood of one's blood, carried within one with love for eight months, brought forth with pain, joy and awe amidst tears and sweat, cherished, nurtured and tended to with love, hope, aspirations and then, to lose him before he even reached his prime and potential. I will not know, I cannot know. I could write about it, I could think I feel about it but I cannot possibly fathom the depth and breadth of the wrench.