Pathetic...

I want my kitty back, but she's gone for good. The striking difference in my grief over Ellie, as opposed to Eddie, is that with Eddie I felt stricken with guilt, for the euthanasia. Over time, of course, I came to know that it was the kindest thing I could have done at the time, and the absolute right decision. And all the times I've had dreams (which continue now---oh this freaks me out a little---I just remembered that about a week before Ellie died, I felt that she was seeing something in the apartment. The way she acted when Eddie first died. Sort of how we humans think we see our dead...) and felt his presence, I know that he didn't hold it against me.
So with Ellie, I think, I knew that it was the right thing to do. Not only because of my prior experience with it, but also because she was so very very sick, that the thought of not doing it hurt worse than any sort of hesitation might have.

Anyway. The difference between them, my grief for them, is that with Ellie I am so angry. I am mad at everything. Not at anything to do with her or losing her, but with everyone else, including myself. I am being self-destructive in a way that I would not have been had she not died. I have done something so very stupid, something I wouldn't have done since my early 20's. I am so angry at myself. For trusting. For believing. For being vulnerable.

But the truth is I miss Ellie so much. And it's been much harder for me to face my life in this place without her. Because she was everywhere with me. I mean, I'd stand up, and she'd stand and follow me. I'd go to bed, and she'd come in and lay down next to my head. I couldn't even pee without her pushing open the bathroom door. She didn't just follow me, she loved me, didn't want to be without me. I can't even write that without crying. The other day I was listening to a song, something about the angels...and I just collapsed and cried on the floor. In her spot where she'd lay in my bedroom doorway. I didn't realize that's where I was until I calmed down. It was pathetic....

And then I read these other blogs about the war in Iraq and I feel guilty. What am I complaining about anyway? Yes, my cat has died...but she wasn't my child (though, since I won't be having any, I guess, she was my last little baby in some ways...) and I am not having to suffer like so many people do in this world.

How does one reconcile their own grief for something that doesn't seem as worthy as the grief that others suffer? I wrote a story once, about this sort of thing, it is something I struggled with as a social worker too...The story was called "Ghetto"...

I guess my grief needs to turn to art...not to a man...just having a hard time getting there...

***Sigh***