I’m not afraid of death. It’s the hours I don’t like.
- Woody Allen
I’ve probably told this story before, but I’m prone to repeating myself- just ask my ex-girlfriend, who was not enamored of that little habit of mine- but now and again something happens to remind me of it. It’s been long enough now so that the memories involve smiles instead of tears, so grab a cup of coffee; I’m going to travel this path again.
Ten years ago- 1.4.00, to be precise- I lost Makis, my companion of almost 15 years. To this day, Makis remains the longest relationship I’ve ever had…by a fair piece. That Makis was a cat- a black and white Maine Coon- makes that relationship no less meaningful or significant. Makis came in to my life when he was about four weeks old. He rode 30 miles clinging to the rear axle of a station wagon I was a passenger in. Long story short, we bonded immediately, and for the next 15 years we were inseparable. People, jobs, residences, and home towns came and went, but Makis was the one constant in my life, the one sentient being happy to see me no matter what may have happened, what I may have done, or what might have gone wrong on a given day. All he wanted was for me to sit down so he could curl up in my lap and fall asleep.
No matter how hard I tried, it was hard to keep from taking Makis for granted. He was always there, wherever I was. One day, he became listless and lost control of his bowels. Within 48 hours, I was faced with making the decision I’d known that one day I’d have to make, but had managed to wall off from my consciousness. I spent a last few minutes with Makis in my lap, then the vet came in and our 15 years together came to a peaceful end. I was devastated, of course, but even as I cried unlike I have before or since, I understood that I’d had something that many never experience. It was one of the saddest events of my life, but I felt fortunate for those 15 years. I still do…and I miss him terribly.
I was reminded of this as I read Brian Kane’s description of losing his cat Maynard, who’d been part of his family since 1996. There are those who downplay the loss of a pet as somehow less than that of losing a human. I’m not going to debate comparative grieving, other than to say that from my experience, losing a family member, whether two-legged or four, hurts. Grief is grief, and the process hurts any way you slice it. A very wise man once told me that death is a part of life, and I’ve come to understand that he was right. Death is a part of the circle of life; it’s the joy and the memories that make the journey worthwhile.
My heart goes out to Brian and his family. I can only hope that in time the pain and the tears will subside and that memories and smiles will take their place. Life goes on, of course, if only because it must. Pain, suffering, and loss is a part of life. That truth doesn’t make things any easier, but it does mean that we’ll carry on, and hopefully someday someone will mourn us once we’ve passed. I’ve always believed that the quality of a life really is measured by the joy left behind. My hope for Brian and his family is that joy will soon outweigh their pain, and that smiles will soon replace tears.
