Your Pet Loss Diaries

Jun 2, 2010

by Meg Loftheim
(Lakeland, FL)

KC, I know it hasn't been that long but I keep thinking the pain will go away. I look forward to being able to write to you each day. Is that crazy? I hope not. You were such a large part of my life that my schedule has been totally changed. I don't know what to do without you. I feel that you should be here and you are not. I want to look at the porch and see you sleeping on the chair.

How many times did I return to the house and come outside to find you or see you walk in when we got home. Will I ever find peace. I want to and yet I don't want to. I miss you. I am starting to talk about you a little more and sometimes I can talk about you and not cry. We are going to the mountains and you won't be there. I am not looking forward to the trip. You kept me busy and the trip went quickly. Now, I have to sit and I don't like to sit. You know that.

I actually talked or should I say kidded about a new kitten... dad doesn't seem to disagree so much but I know he doesn't want any cat but you here. At his retirement, someone talked about how he dealt with your passing and I think he hurt more than he ever let on to me. He really cried, KC. We cried together. We lost you and we were not ready. We were not prepared. You didn't warn us enough. But you didn't die alone. You woke us up and I am so thankful for that.

I have talked to so many friends who have lost their pets on the operating table or other ways. You didn't do that to us. You called us and we came running. Thank you for that.

Well dear KC, time for bed. I may not write each night but you must know you are always in my thoughts. I touch your cremation container each night and say how I love you. You will come with us to the mountains, and always be close. I have a carved wooden cat that is on your container. I found some toys, I have saved them. I love you and miss you.

Hugs always. Mom