In our weekly series, we offer a little inspiration to kick off your week.
Some simple wisdom, elegant and accessible. From one soul to another.
We hope it helps you ease into your Monday.
xo
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Good Grief
“Grief can destroy you – or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. OR you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn’t allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it’s over and you’re alone, you begin to see that it wasn’t just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or washing dishes together or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it. The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can’t get off your knees for a long time, you’re driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life.”
~Dean Koontz
On Saturday March 21, 2015 at 6:05pm, we had to lay our sweet kitty, Jasmine, to rest.
After nearly two months of ups & downs with her health, we found out she had bone marrow cancer and if we didn’t begin immediate blood transfusions she likely wouldn’t live more than a week. We did what we felt was the most humane thing, and let her go.
Jasmine has been in my life for 17 years — since my undergrad days. I’ll never forget hearing her sweet meow underneath a vending machine at Kroger, as I walked in to do some grocery shopping.
I stopped, looked underneath the machine and saw a tiny baby kitten, far too young to be away from her mama. Having never had cats before (and being highly allergic), I didn’t know what to do. But I scooped her up anyway, went to the pet store to get supplies and drove back home where I surprised my roommate with my furry little find.
Having never had cats before (and being highly allergic), I didn’t know what to do. But I scooped her up anyway, went to the pet store to get supplies and drove back home where I surprised my roommate with this furry little find.
Initially I thought we would give her away after she was a bit older and had some more meat on her bones, but alas she took to us and us to her, and so she became our house kitty. Jasmine moved with me from Auburn Alabama to St. Louis to Los Angeles to San Francisco to Berkeley to Oakland and back to Los Angeles. I like to believe she fancied herself “a well-traveled woman of the world”.
She loved catnip, chasing flashlights in the dark, cuddling with her boyfriend (aka my man) and lounging in the bathtub (in between sips from the dripping faucet).
She was my child. My first fur baby. Her departure has been deeply felt.
It’s been interesting navigating the grief of her loss. I knew it would be painful to watch her go (and it was . . . horribly so). But I didn’t account for the lingering grief that accompanies losing a pet. It’s just as long-lasting as the kind of grief that shows up when you lose a parent, friend, relative, etc. It’s filled with the same sadness, confusion, anger and guilt.
After going through quite a bit of loss a few years ago (see this, this and this), I thought I would be a bit more prepared. Even though logically I know you can’t prepare for these kinds of things. And not surprisingly, I wasn’t.
I wasn’t prepared for the number of people in my life who actually understood what it was like to lose a pet. The outpouring of prayers, love, text messages, voice memos and phone calls. It surprised me that so many people seemed to get that this loss was just as devastating as any other. Equally, it surprised me that some people didn’t get it and acted like it was “business as usual”. Ummm, no.
I also wasn’t prepared for the lessons this particular loss was going to teach me. Namely, that I would actually learn to welcome and celebrate grief like I would an old friend. Yes, I know it sounds a bit hokey, but it’s actually a really powerful lesson.
Instead of running from the tears, I stayed with them. I said ‘thank you’ every single time I cried. I tried to focus on the serendipity of how Jasmine came into my life and all of the wonderful days, hours and minutes we had together. I opened my heart to feel the pain and in return I was met with gratitude and immense love.
Because grief is good. It’s painful yes, but, it’s good.
The deeper the grief — the deeper the love.
So while I wouldn’t say I’m a fan of grief (I wouldn’t want to invite him/her over for tea), I respect and welcome it when it shows up. Because isn’t that why we’re here? To learn to be present with what’s in front of us — no matter if it feels blissful or uncomfortable as hell.
I’m so grateful for the strength that I’ve gained from enduring all of the losses in my life. With each loss, I gain fuel for my jet-pack — so that I can soar to greater heights with a more open, loving heart.
I never knew so intimately, the power that has been inside of me all along. And without grief, I may never have discovered it.
Jasmine Watanabe-Hsu
March 22, 2008 – March 21, 2015
