August 28th is one of my least favorite days. It was 3 years ago today I held my sweet Zoloft’s body in the University of Minnesota Veterinary Medical Center for the final time and I picked him up in a box the next day. While I’m not acutely grieving like I was that day, grief never truly ends. That day was still hurts when I really think about it, it’s different now because it’s not only the awful feelings. It’s more complex.
Grief Is A Spectrum
The funny thing about grief is that it isn’t just the pain or the loss. That’s what people typically think it is, but it’s really a full spectrum of emotions. As time passes, the full spectrum begins to reveal itself more clearly like the spectrum of different colors we see when light is reflected through a prism. The dark colors, the blacks and the grays, are still there. Eventually you start seeing the purple, those funny little moments with your cat that poke through the darkness. It may be how they comforted you when you were crying because you just got the news that they were sick or seeing their personality shine through even when they weren’t feeling well.
Then red shows up. The anger you feel at yourself for mistakes you made. How you wish you’d been more patient with him at the end because he was sick. You didn’t mean it when you yelled at him, begging him to eat.
The reds give way to pink as you soften and realize you were suffering, too. You were scared and didn’t know what to do.
But you loved him. You never stopped loving your cat. You were so scared and things boiled over. And you let him know that you loved him. He knew you loved him. Be kind to yourself.
Blue enters. Blue like his eyes.
Blue can be sad and it can be dark, but it can also be filled with sunshine like the sky. It may be filled with love like his eyes. Like water, it can be cleansing and healing. Different memories come up and you remember a poem from your youth:
Time passes, people move
Like a river’s flow, it never ends
A childish mind will turn to noble ambition
Young love will become deep affection
The clear water’s surface reflects growth
– Sheik, The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina Of Time
You realize that you’ve grown. You are growing. You’re not growing without your cat, but you’re growing with him as part of you in a different way. More and more time keeps passing, but you’ve come a long way since those days not that long ago where he helped you play Zelda. The day you decided on a whim to train him how to beat Zelda for you.
He really was part of every aspect of your life.
It stings thinking of the special times you had. The sting doesn’t feel excruciating like it did at first. It hurts, but it’s different. It’s healing. It feels, strangely, good.
Joy Enters Again
Soon you notice there’s green and orange and every possible color flooding your world again.
Including yellow. There’s a lot of yellow. That bright, joyful color that you never thought you’d see again. You start to laugh about the time he tricked you into giving up your spot on the couch by acting like he was so hungry. Really, he just wanted to nap where you were because when you turned around to put out his food, his eyes were already closed.
You remember his obsession with office furniture even though what cat has any use for an office chair?
Apparently Zoloft did.
But It’s Tainted
The colors come back, but the black and gray is still there. It’s like a sheet over the yellows, muting them.
You think about your evening ritual of telling your cat, “Bug, your daddy is going to bed. You can come and snug if you would like. It’s up to you, but your daddy would like for you to come and snug.” He’d then follow you to bed and lay on your chest, filling your world with thunderous purrs.
You loved doing that almost every night you were together, but man, do you miss it. It still hurts.
The yellow is there, but so is the black.
It feels awful that something so wonderful could be stained by such a dark, ugly gray. Why can’t the greens and pinks and yellows come out untainted? Like they were when he would sit by the screen door, staring out at the world as the sun set on another special day together.
Why can’t you just feel the way you did when you’d see him doing that? That swell of love and that surge of peace that came from seeing such a sweet being so comfortable and curious in your home.
The Colors And The Joy Get Brighter
Then the blue returns. Like his eyes. Those eyes that used to watch massive flakes of snow fall from the sky and would light up when he saw you. The black is there, but it’s not really as strong.
Then the yellow, the joy, swirls back into your world as you remember watching him play with silly toys or him “assisting” you as you cut fabric.
This time, you notice the yellow more. Yeah, there’s still a haze over it, but it isn’t quite as tainted as it was. The haze isn’t as heavy now. You can, for a few moments, feel what you felt with him when he’d hold your arm as he napped on your lap. The joy you felt in those simple moments is still there somewhere.
Embracing The Spectrum
Then you do something that may not quite make sense at first: you stop fighting the black and gray. It hits you that they are part of the full spectrum of colors you need to experience as part of your grief. Actually, they’re a necessary part of it. If it were all shades of green, the purple and orange wouldn’t seem so vibrant. They’re not tainting it; they’re just part of it.
One day, you notice it: the yellow, the joy, is there without any of the black obstructing it.
It might be when you think of a special memory or when someone tells you story about your cat. It might be seeing your new cats play with toys that belonged to the special cat you miss. Those toys wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for him.
He’s still bringing joy to the world. He never truly stopped creating joy. It was just out of view. You needed to see the rest of the spectrum to see the joy.
Recognizing The Subtle Shades
Part of the seeing the full spectrum of grief is recognizing those glimmers of color and light. That includes on days like today. Thanks to technology, most of my photos of Zoloft come with a time stamp.
August 28th , 2023 was a horrible day. August 28, 2022 we were inhaler training in case he needed it. How much I loved watching him learn. August 28th, 2021 we had a lot of happy snuggles. August 28th, 2020 we finished moving into the happiest place we lived together. August 28th, 2019 he enjoyed being the perfect size for a box. August 28th, 2018 (our first August 28th together) he got to play with a new pizza toy.
There are a lot of good things that happened on August 28th in years past that matter just as much as the worst August 28th.
Every Color Is Part Of His Memory
Grief isn’t just darkness: it’s longing and rage and regret and nostalgia and love and tenderness and calm. And yes, it’s the joy of the memory of those special days you had with your cat. The shades of blue will always be there, but why wouldn’t you want the blue? His eyes were the most beautiful blue.
When you’re missing a special cat, remember the joy. It’s still there somewhere. Just because you can’t feel it now doesn’t mean that it’s gone. The black will ease and you’ll see that golden yellow. It was there the whole time.
It’s been three whole years without you, Zoloft. I can’t believe it even to this day. Your daddy will never stop missing you. I loved you for every single moment we had together and I’ll love you for every single moment I exist. Thank you for bringing me joy. Still.
