Lent and Loss

Two days before Lent began this year, we lost our precious cat MT to complications from heart disease. He was six years old and we didn't even know he was sick. Instead of giving up soda or going to daily Mass, my Lent became wholly focused on mourning. It was seasonally appropriate and I had no energy for anything else anyway. I thought the whole process would feel productive come Easter- that there would be some peace to be found on Easter morning. I rarely use the word "optimistic" to characterize myself but my hopes for Lent and for Easter were definitely optimistic.

So let's back up two months. I had flown home to Atlanta for the weekend on a whim to attend a friend's birthday party as a surprise. Everything at home was just fine- including our cats MT and Kaylee. I caught an early Sunday morning flight back to Houston for another week of work. Just hours later, my husband was calling to say that MT had collapsed, that he couldn't move his back legs, that they were going to the emergency vet. Hundreds of miles away, I did the only things I could think of- I prayed and I Googled. I was in the middle of Mass, where I had made a special exception from my normal routine and brought my phone in just in case there was news, when I next heard anything. We hadn't known MT had a heart condition, he hadn't shown any signs, but it was pretty advanced. A blood clot was obstructing the arteries to his legs (a saddle thrombus) and he was in congestive heart failure. The vet suggested that I fly back as soon as possible.

As soon as Mass finished, the couple I am currently staying with packed me a dinner and drove me to the airport. All I can say is that caring for people is always among the most meaningful things a person can do but that caring for someone in a bad situation takes on special significance and meaning. I won't drag readers through what the next excruciating hours were like for us. I do owe thanks to a handful of friends who were on hand to offer emergency advice and input, even if it meant getting dragged out of bed to do it. We kept our baby boy as comfortable as possible while trying any avenue open to us and to him. Aside from giving us some small peace of mind that we had tried everything we could, that we had gotten second and third opinions, it was all for naught.

I'd like to say that there was some silver lining in the whole thing. That at least my husband and I were together. That at least our baby boy was not alone. That at least there were not months of suffering. Absolutely none of it makes me feel any better though. Not everyone feels so strongly about their pets but, to us, MT was a child, our child. Not a day goes by that I do not feel like I am walking around missing something essential, like there is a hole in me.

I don't share all of this for extra sympathy and indeed that whole conversation makes me a little uncomfortable. I share it because it is a thing that happened and I'd rather write about it here than talk about it. I also share this because we cannot know what the people we encounter are dealing with at any given point in time. These last two months have been a powerful reminder of that. And yet, without knowing the backstory, we still have to interact with people all day, every day. At a time when I struggle to have patience, to be kind, to not be angry, I also remember why these things are so incredibly important.

Like all loss, time will ameliorate this one but it hasn't happened yet.