in february, our youngest cat started losing weight--several pounds over two weeks. we took her into the vet, where we found out she had a mass effect. gently, our vet told us that there was nothing to be done and we could decide to let her go that night or the next morning.
we brought her home, hugged her, held her with our other furry girls, took her outside. we told each other stories--about how evie climbed in trees and bit us and would do just about anything to sit in nathan's lap.
and the next day we hugged her some more and blessed her with oil. nathan held her as they sedated her, and together we wept as we let her go. our hearts broke.
we brought her home, hugged her, held her with our other furry girls, took her outside. we told each other stories--about how evie climbed in trees and bit us and would do just about anything to sit in nathan's lap.
and the next day we hugged her some more and blessed her with oil. nathan held her as they sedated her, and together we wept as we let her go. our hearts broke.
and now, weeks later: easter.
after worship at the local episcopal church, where we celebrated the impossible victory over death of Jesus Christ, we went for a walk. stories of when evie climbed into the rafters of our garage and when she sat in the back window of our old neon and when she first came to live with us--they welled up in us.
we carried evie's ashes to the ocean, and found the best rocks to sit on. we lit a candle. i tried to pray, letting the tears slip from my eyes. and then we tipped the bag of our little evie's ashes into the water, letting the waves take her into the wider world she always longed to explore.
it's mohaupt tradition to sing "swing low, sweet chariot" when we let our furry ones go, and the melody followed her and the waves.
and then she was gone.
life hands us lots of hard impossible things: loving this little one and letting her go, finally, on this day which is supposed to celebrate that life has the final say.
and perhaps letting her go into the ocean was about letting life win and knowing that she's never completely gone. impossibly.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
(mary oliver)
after worship at the local episcopal church, where we celebrated the impossible victory over death of Jesus Christ, we went for a walk. stories of when evie climbed into the rafters of our garage and when she sat in the back window of our old neon and when she first came to live with us--they welled up in us.
we carried evie's ashes to the ocean, and found the best rocks to sit on. we lit a candle. i tried to pray, letting the tears slip from my eyes. and then we tipped the bag of our little evie's ashes into the water, letting the waves take her into the wider world she always longed to explore.
it's mohaupt tradition to sing "swing low, sweet chariot" when we let our furry ones go, and the melody followed her and the waves.
and then she was gone.
life hands us lots of hard impossible things: loving this little one and letting her go, finally, on this day which is supposed to celebrate that life has the final say.
and perhaps letting her go into the ocean was about letting life win and knowing that she's never completely gone. impossibly.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
(mary oliver)
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