I Scarcely Realised
I hid my grief. Out and about
I was normal, bright, busy.
At home I was weeping
suddenly, unplanned,
unanticipated even, all over
my days and bereft nights
in abrupt, startling moments.
She was so absent! My other
beloved cats all came visiting
in spirit soon after leaving
– often – and still do. But she
felt utterly gone. Not a sign.
Just memories, I thought –
going about my life as before,
only that she who had been
so very present, wasn’t. Oh,
I could see her in my mind
everywhere she’d ever been,
little creature of habit and routine,
and that made me cry more.
Finally, I don’t know what shifted
(but I’d done some energy work
of course) anyway I just realised:
that’s how she’s visiting. She’s here!
She’s reminding me, comforting me,
doing the same as always –
gazing intently as always, with those
purposeful, speaking eyes: ever
the telepathic cat. That understanding
must have made everything possible.
I lay down today for an afternoon rest.
(She always loved when I did that.)
I didn’t sleep but relaxed, eyes closed.
Soon I felt the familiar warm weight
on my thighs, where she’d always settle.
gazing intently as always, with those
purposeful, speaking eyes: ever
the telepathic cat. That understanding
must have made everything possible.
I lay down today for an afternoon rest.
(She always loved when I did that.)
I didn’t sleep but relaxed, eyes closed.
Soon I felt the familiar warm weight
on my thighs, where she’d always settle.
I scarcely realised she wasn’t still alive.
For day 26 of April Poems at 'imaginary garden with real toads' we are asked to write about 'those moments of re-charging, rebooting, re-winding, re-birthing'. With perfect
synchronicity, today I experienced this moment.
That was the hardest thing for me with Pup - his utter absence. No sign, other than his snout on the edge of my bed the morning after he died. I am so glad you feel her presence. I wish i felt Pup's. But the memory of him is with me always. I love this poem.
ReplyDeleteTelepathy was always Selene's preferred method of communication – staring at me intently and putting pictures in my head. But it took me ages to realise the things I'd been 'seeing' in my mind recently were not just memories.
DeleteAs I write this comment, our calico Belle is in my lap, her tail swishing across keyboard and screen -- your poem rings deeply the bell of presence and absence, how what is most loved is greatest lost. I don't know how I'll get through losing this wonderfur when she's gone, but your poem helps me shoulder that, as I hope our reading your poem helps you shoulder yours. Your wrote this for that point, right? The Siamese gold statue in the Egyptian tomb tells us that these familiars will be with us forever. Absence chimes with deepest presence; it reminds us to say a prayer of gratitude to the heart.
ReplyDelete*Smiling through tears*.
DeleteAhhh sweet Selene and dear Rosemary - over oceans and through time and tears and some existential heaviness in my own heart you both reach out, a single entity and give
ReplyDeletehope and comfort that love truly lives ...forever . Hugs to you 💝💝
And to you, dear Pearl.
DeleteA super sweet poem; one recognizes the sadness that you describe so well. Thanks. k.
ReplyDeleteMany thanks for saying so.
DeleteOh Rosemary this brought tears in my eyes .. *gentle hugs* .. it's not easy to go on about life and daily routine while bearing the loss and absence of a beloved pet. Poignant write.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Sanaa.
DeleteOh! You have brought out that moment of change, change in perspective, change in understanding to one of comfort, so beautifully and yet in such a simple way.
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad that you 'got it' so clearly. Thank you.
DeleteI understand Rosemary. I see my cats everywhere, although they are long since gone. No more for me, the sorrow is too great. I loved this telling of Selene...hugs to you dear friend.
ReplyDeleteYes, I am the same – no more for me either. Primarily for that reason, that the sorrow is too great; and reinforced by more practical considerations.
Delete"I didn’t sleep but relaxed, eyes closed.
ReplyDeleteSoon I felt the familiar warm weight
on my thighs, where she’d always settle.
I scarcely realised she wasn’t still alive."
<3
I love this poem --- and your kitty.
Thank you.
DeleteAnd you will always be that way. Think how many years that has been. Mothers moreso I believe. I have an ether Brit friend, blogging and then Facebook, who also lost her daughter after birth. Sooo sad.
ReplyDeleteI have some of those feelings from a divorce. Love gradually turned to care afterwards. But I was not normal out and with others. I holed up for a couple of years and certainly wasn't looking for a new mate when the new Mrs. Jim showed. In my mind my bags were packed for years in case. I did not want to be hurt again. I'm over that now but no way can I stop the silent involuntary sobs which remind me.
Note, first marriage lasted 13 years (married young), now going on 47 again.
..
Well, this particular loss is only about 8 weeks old – but I do appreciate the truth of what you say. Your own terrible loss by divorce also involved betrayal (I know from other things you have told me) which surely compounds the grief. Love doesn't stop because the circumstances change. Your ability to love means you still feel that old grief, but it also means you were able to love again for 47 years (so far) of happiness. It also shows in your caring comments on people's poems, including mine.
DeleteSo beautiful Rosemary. My heart goes out to you.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Linda.
DeleteYour poem touched me deeply, Rosemary, especially as it is almost three years since we lost our beautiful Tosca.The moment of transition from deep grief to looking for the precious glimmer of your beloved cat's soul is so beautifully described in this poem.
ReplyDeleteOh, how wonderful. I'm sure my cat Trevor sent Bindi Lu to us. Both cats were gray striped tabbies with identical personalities.
ReplyDelete