This lovely ball of fur engraved his paw in my heart and taught me grief.
Meet Kirimi, a charming puspin (Pusang Pinoy/ Philippine local cat breed) who adopted me in 2009. Yes, you read that right! He adopted and chose me to be his companion. Though my mother initially objected to having him in the house, he won her over with his playful adorableness. Not only did he add aesthetic value to the patio and the backyard, but he also taught me life lessons… death and grief lessons to be exact.
Lesson one: Even when in pain, don’t be too self-absorbed.
When the family is all warming up to him, he got into an accident when my dad injured him with the family car. My dad was quiet but obviously distraught as we brought him to the vet. And me being overly emotional just shrieked demanding, “Doc, just do whatever it takes to save my Kirimi! I can pay you just don’t let him die!” Of course, as a nurse, I knew the odds were slim that even the vet told me if Kirimi survived the night, it would be a miracle. My heart was crushed with every shallow breath he took but I can’t give up on him and I’ll never take the easy way by putting him to sleep.
I was quite distressed and focused on my pain that I didn’t notice my dad was suffering too. He was already feeling guilty from the accident and for him to see me like that must have hurt him like hell. It made me realize that even though my emotions were in turmoil, I still have to be mindful of the people around me. I may be entitled to my grief but it doesn’t give me the right to be mean or to take others for granted.
Lesson two: You learn to move forward instead of blaming.
Kirimi survived his ordeal but the vet told me that he won’t be his same active self. True enough, when I play with him for a few seconds to a minute he’d be wheezing and panting like an asthmatic kid. Plus, there’s always the possibility of having complications and being vulnerable to health problems later on.
There were times when I had thoughts of “if only's”… if only I was there to call him out and carry him in my arms while dad took the car out safely or “if only” dad honked the car so that Kirimi will be alert to steer clear from the driveway. But the truth is, it already happened and no amount of self-blame or pointing fingers will fix the situation. Rather it will only disrupt your inner peace and destroy relationships with others. I learned to take one day at a time and shift my focus on what really matters — living and loving to the fullest with the people I care about.
Lesson three: Death hurts even when you expect it.
Kirimi just disappeared one afternoon and the next day, my dad found him tucked in a corner in the garden… he already crossed the rainbow bridge. My family didn’t know how to tell me because they know I’d be devastated, so they informed my aunt and asked her if she could break it to me gently. She, in turn, asked our flatmates how she’d tell me. They hatched a plan to let me have dinner first before breaking the sad news to me — it was perfect in their heads, like a volleyball team ready to make an offense.
When I came home, they acted nicely at the dinner table which I didn’t exactly pick up on because I was hungry and was looking forward to tonight’s meal. While eating, they tried to do some small talk about how my day was and I said it was nothing interesting. When Master, a big brother figure spoke out of the blue,
“Namatay na imong iring? (Your cat died?)”
It was as if my world stopped and everyone on the table was now glaring at Master for blurting that out loud… they actually forgot to include him in the earlier briefing. Surprise took me first then fighting against tears I just said I didn’t know and quickly shoved the food on my plate down my gullet. I just wanted to disappear from there while I still can calmly. Funny enough, the moment I got inside my room everybody also disappeared from the table because they weren’t sure how to react or console me in my grief.
And grieve I did, it may be silly for some to shed tears for an animal but it wasn’t like that for me… I just lost a family member of 8 years. Although I knew how fragile he was and will live a shorter life span, I was just greedy to yearn for more years with him. And it reflects on how I grieve for my friends and loved ones — even for those I knew are suffering from a terminal illness. Their deaths still hurt as much as those sudden ones.
Lesson four: Grief doesn’t disappear, you just learn to live with it.
After Kirimi’s passing, I’m always moved to tears each time I see his photos and videos. But as time passed, I learned to look back on the wonderful moments he spent with our family than dwell on the loss. Though it doesn’t mean I don’t cry anymore when I miss him terribly, I still do. Grief doesn’t get lost over time, but it somehow helps keep the beautiful memories of someone special alive.
And even if I won’t get to meet another cat as sweet and a cuddle bug like Kirimi, I’m just grateful to have him in my lifetime. If I get lucky enough to be adopted again by another furball, I wish I can also give him/her blissful 9 lives!
