I will inevitably bawl my eyes out as I type this post. Yep, cue tears. Have hardly even started writing, and there they go.
But I need to type this, because someday, don’t ask me how or when, because right now I can’t even imagine it, someday I’ll be glad I did.
I want to remember Elsie’s squeak. Myeh-eh? she says, every time she sees me.
I want to remember her shining green eyes.
I want to remember the way she feels when I’m laying alongside her, rubbing her belly, and she stretches out and her whole body shakes.
The way she paws at the shower curtain, trying to stick her head it but yet avoid getting wet. Even the length of time it took for me to get a shower was too long, in her book, for her to be away from me.
The look on her face when my staff gave her scratches, and oh, how she loved it.
I want to remember the way she positively wedged herself into her basket-in-a-box-on-a-stack-of-drawers. The way she cuddled with the stuffed kitty in there.
I want to remember her little white toes and how soft they were.
I want to remember the way she was so persistent in waking me up to eat in the middle of the night… bite, likc, paw, bite… until I got up and fed her.
I want to remember her boxes. At last count, she had four. And they must have tissue paper inside.
And her shiny balls that she chased around the house. They’d collect under the couch, and if you threw six or seven at once, she’d go in all directions at the same time, and it was cute and hilarious.
I want to remember her spot on the back of the old couch, where she made a dent.
The way she sat like a gargoyle on the arm of the couch. Cutest gargoyle ever.
Most of all, I want, no, I need to remember the way she made me feel. She made me feel wanted, needed, loved in a way that no one and no thing ever had before. No matter what I was going through, she was there. If she was sick and I was having a meltdown in the shower, she’d climb right in the shower with me to help me.
I’m terrified to forget. I’m terrified that she will become less real, just a memory. I never want that to happen. If that means missing her so bad it continues to hurt for the rest of my life, I’m okay with that. I think it will always hurt. In a way, I hope it does, because that means she’s still real to me.
Elsie Penelope, I love you, baby tee. No kitty will ever replace you, but you know me and you know that I need to have somebody here with me… she is not coming to replace you in any way, but to help me heal. I’ll never stop longing for you. Please don’t be scared, because Jesus is going to greet you with open arms. He will take better care of you than I ever could. I trust Him completely with you. But hey, kitty girl? Please don’t forget your mama. I’ll see you someday soon.