There's several drafts of abandoned attempts to say what is in my heart this week. Most of them wanted to try and discern some meaning, give some prophetic word that might speak to the heart of our country. There was anger in most of it. But, as the week has closed and I find myself wrung out, I'm not interested in that. I just want to tell you about my boy, about kindness, compassion, and love.
This Tuesday 16 June, we said goodbye to our sweet kitty, Prince Corin. I wrote about him earlier this year, our miracle boy who came back from the brink to spend five more years chattering at birds, leaping two hops across the bed to the top of the cat tree, and filling our days with his long tail and sneaky moves.
He'd lost weight just before his brother died. That's happened before. His cancer and/or IBD flared up, but each time he beat it back. I think with the passing of his brother Shasta, it got the better of him. The chances of him recovering, coming back to full health and energy were so slim, letting him go was the loving and merciful thing.
In the course of a month, we've said goodbye to our two boys who have filled our home and lives with love and joy and mystery for sixteen years. It is impossible to convey the emptiness we feel in our hearts, the void that exists in every room. The wounds that were cut a month ago have been ripped open, and we've started the journey of grief over again.
Corin was the most selfless soul I have ever met. I could spend pages telling you of time after time when he came to us; because, in that moment, we needed something. There was the time he lay down beside me when I wasn't feeling well. The time, after a traumatic six-hour car ride, he came out from beneath the blankets to give Leanne the smallest purr to let her know he was okay before she made the drive back. Or how, in these past weeks, he came and hopped onto my lap as I wrote early in the morning; because, he knew how lonely it is back here now.
And through his illness, he's allowed us to see the overwhelming compassion that surrounds us in our small world. We had two wonderful vets who sacrificed time to talk with us, to work him into their schedule, and be honest enough to say that it was time. And we've had our friends and co-workers who have been so kind.
This world is poorer without our Prince. I do not fully understand why a critter of such love and selflessness is gone when so many who seem to revel in hate and pain live on and on. I know only that I wake each morning thinking of him, and wondering if I can be as attentive and giving as he was to those around me.
And by doing so quicken the coming of the day when I can hold my boys again.
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