Grief and Focaccia
CommentMy beautiful cat George died last December. She became very ill, very quickly and time seemed to suspend itself, like I could almost see the seconds ticking backwards. I took her to the vets on a Monday and waited for good news that never came.
The following Wednesday we had to make the decision to end her life because her organs were failing and she wasn’t getting any better. I desperately wanted her to live longer, but not on those terms. Instead of saying goodbye, I said thank you to her, thank you for the incredible love and joy she brought to us, for being my companion and for loving me as I am.
The pain of her loss was exquisite, like a bright, white light that seared through and ruptured every part of me. In that moment I have never felt more human, to feel such intense grief because you have loved so much is powerful. I had the privilege of her company for almost eight years and my agony at her death was born of love.
The morning after, I awoke to an emptiness that made me feel more creature than human. I decided to venture outside and my objective was to put one foot in front of the other and find a carb laden treat, something to fill the enormous hole left in me. I walked to a bakery and behind the glass, the focaccia called to me. An air filled slab of hope, promising to fill me up and give me comfort in a loss I could barely comprehend.
The paper bag glistened with oil as I set off on my venture home, I took a bite and got a slick of it on my chin. I already felt like an animal so I didn’t care much. It was heavenly, salty, dense and each chew gave me comfort and respite from the sadness.
However, it didn’t take long for the colossal wave of grief to find me, I felt it erupt just as the weather became more grim as fuzzy rain spat at me from overhead. I braced myself as I felt the gloom consume me, it coursed around my body and I felt the focaccia harden like a rock in my stomach. It was no match for the grief.
Where was I heading? Home, home where she wasn’t and would never be again. It felt impossible, it couldn’t be true?…. Could it?
Tears ran down my face, big splotches of sadness licked my cheeks and rolled onto my clothes. I was crying into my focaccia as I walked around Roath, the middle class irony of this was not lost on me. I was desperately lost in that moment, home didn’t feel safe, neither did outside. Maybe safety could be in a person so I messaged my friend.
She asked if I wanted to come over, it was like someone offering me a lifeline and I grabbed it. I knew at that moment I was a mess, my crumpled, tear stained face was salty and garlicky and I had to share this vulnerability with her whether I liked it or not.
When she opened the door it felt like I was saved. I am not sure she will ever know the true extent to just how much she helped me, not just on that day but the days since. She is the best person I could have seen at that moment, her kindness and care enveloped me when I was sinking. Sadly, she knows the grief of losing a pet before their time all too well which makes her compassion truly empathetic. I wish she didn’t know this pain.
By the time I got home, the focaccia was see through in the bag and I ate the rest of it in silence. It couldn’t stem the grief or sadness but it could always remind me not to shy away from pain, to embrace it and reach out when you feel alone because there is someone willing to save you.