It is
impossible to tell anybody (and for them to understand) the grief I experience
every day after the death of my Rosemary 6 years ago on December 2020. We were
married for 52 years and for me there is no relief in distraction. It amounts
to trying to remove the crease from a creased paper.
To compound
my grief this past May 12th my male cat Niño died. Rosemary and I
had adopted him and his twin sister 9 years ago at the Vancouver SPCA. They slept with us. Niña was Rosemary's cat and Niño was mine.Rosemary taught Niño to walk around the block without a leash. After she died I continued the tradition. Niña now has adopted all of Niño's idiosyncracies except the walk.
To all the
above there is one blessing. Niño’s sister Niña is inseparable from my
presence. She regulates my daily routine
that provides me with some comforting stability. I wake up around 7 AM and only
then will she meow. I go downstairs and feed her and make my breakfast which I
place in a tray and bring it up to my bed as I did with Rosemary for 25 years.
I read the Vancouver Sun and the NYTimes. After a brief stay in my garden deck, Niña comes in and gets on my bed between my legs. This action keeps me in bed
for quite a while.
Around noon Niña wants more food. When I go to my oficina to scan a plant or write a blog she sits on a chair next to me as Niño once did. In the evening around 8 she stares at me as she is ready for her treats. After that she stares at me again. She wants me to take a bath so that I can get back on the bed and she can get close to me. I postpone turning off the lights until 11:30.
The more I
share moments with Niña, the more I suspect she has human qualities and
understands death and may even have a memory of the death of my Rosemary and
that of Niño.
I do see my
youngest daughter Hilary once a week. That is pleasant. But somehow that cannot
compete with the constant presence of Niña. I hope she lives a bit longer (she
is 16) as it reinforces my will to keep living a tad longer.
