Grief is a funny animal...

"..we move on..we begin to live again, but not until we have given grief its time.."

 - On Grief and Grieving

Grief is a funny animal that is now living with me and demands my time and attention. Its methods are varied, sometimes subtle other times in my face and all consuming. This is not unlike how my cats, Newton and Einstein, work at getting my attention.

Newton's incessant calling is loud and demanding. I am focused on what is before me, but am spending all my energy trying to ignore him. If I could just finish one more section; but he will not be put off. He paces, he cries, he jumps on the counter.

"I am busy, wait", I plead. 

He moves to pester the dog. Her reaction creates a moment of chaos I find impossible to ignore - I jump up and deal with the result, but not Newton.

His protest continues until he decides he must get in my face.  He climbs precariously close to my palette of wet paint. I pick him up and put him back on the floor, this does not dissuade him. He stretches his long body and puts his paws on my leg, looking to leap into my lap; I think there isn't enough room and he'll never be able to fit. And there he  is in my lap, brushing on my newly painted art piece.

"Newton!", I half hiss and whine. I want to curse. He looks at me innocently - then he purrs.

Out of exhaustion I realize Newton's will is stronger than mine - I turn my attention to him. He purrs softly and chatters a bit. At 15 lbs he is heavy and I cannot hold him and continue to work - I have tried. I cannot predict how long he will perch on me, a few minutes, the length of half a sitcom, maybe just a brief check in.

Einstein's methods are dignified, simple, and effective. He sits at a distance and watches me. If I look up, he catches my eye and lifts his head gracefully as if posing for a photograph. When he does decide to interrupt me he is determined. it is at the end of a paw gently placed on the side of my face or a sharp claw to my thigh, back or arm. His delicate frame and 9lbs are surprisingly heavy. Once he has placed himself in front of me he will not be moved.

I have two choices. Get angry, get up and physically move him. Or stop what I am doing, look into those gentle eyes and acknowledge his presence. Once acknowledged he will lie quietly, softly in the curve of my arm.

These interactions with my furry companions remind me of my recent interactions with grief - push it aside, ignore its calls, it will persist, it demands to be recognized, acknowledged. It takes far less energy to acknowledge grief.  When I fight or ignore its presence it is prickly and uncomfortable; but when I sit with it in stillness and quiet it is soft, maybe even comforting.

Grief is a funny animal that now lives with me. How long it will stay I can not say. It has its own time table.




Newton and Einstein