Thoughts Of An Insomniac

My fucking cat died

I  recently learned that getting  to say goodbye is worse than not. When it's sudden, it's sad and it hurts and you feel a lot of regret. But when it's slow it hurts so much worse. You know you're saying goodbye. And it's awful and gut wrenching because in a way you start grieving before they're gone. You try to make up for how shitty you were sometimes but it's not enough because you know exactly how little time you have left and how you'll never get to make up for all those shitty days and all those years you thought you were going to have together. Every time I looked at him my eyes welled and this awful pressure build in my chest. I couldn't breathe. I would hold him and tell him how much I loved him but it never felt like it would be enough. Saying goodbye was the worst.

They asked me if I needed more time to say goodbye before they took him away, and I said no. I couldn't bear it. I wanted it over. But he must've been so scared. I should've been holding him. He needed to know I was there even if he wasn't fully conscious. After it was done they asked if I needed more time to say goodbye. Again I said no because I couldn't bear it. But as they took my baby away, wrapped in that blue blanket decorated with rocket ships, I saw his eyes. Beautiful yellow green eyes staring back at me. Those eyes will haunt my dreams— if I ever manage to sleep. They still looked so full of life. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to call out. Wait. I wanted to kiss him and sing to him and hold him one more time. I wanted the blanket at least to hold him when I got home. To hold the last blanket my son had ever been wrapped in. I couldn't bear to say goodbye. My breath held and my chest pounded, but I didn't cry. I couldn't let myself. As I walked back to the car,  holding that tiny box that somehow fit all of him, I wanted to fall to the ground holding it tightly screaming. I didn't want to put it down. I wanted to hold the box tightly in my fingers until my knuckles turned white and my hands numbed. His body was surely still warm. I wanted to tear open the box and have just one more look at him. I wasn't ready for goodbye. I'd done so much to keep him alive, but I knew he was in a lot of pain and I felt bad, but I wasn't ready to let him go. I knew I couldn't let him suffer for my sake. Not when I was so full of guilt and shame at myself that some days I could barely bring myself to look at him. It was my fault he hadn't gotten better. If I had watched him properly, if I had loved him more, this wouldn't have happened.

It was inevitable. They said even if it hadn't happened now, it would have happened eventually. But he was still a baby. He didn't deserve to suffer like that. And for so long.
I would have gladly taken his place in a heartbeat.

It was so different from when I lost my dad. Back then, there were no goodbyes. I hadn't seen him in three years. It was like loosing him all over again, but permanently this time. I cried every night for a week. And occasionally on Father's Day. But, my baby, I couldn't let myself cry. I wanted someone to hold me and tell me it was going to be okay. I needed someone to hold me. Maybe then I would have let myself cry. I imagined sobbing into someone's arms as they clutch me tightly to their chest. But I still haven't even told anyone he's gone. It's like I'm afraid if I do it makes it all real. I'm certain I'll break down. Sobbing hysterically. Not to mention that it's just not something to bring up in everyday conversation. It's been three days. I still haven't cleaned up his things.

I can't bring myself to. If I was his blankets, it's like removing any trace he was there. If I put his things away it will feel like im…idk saying goodbye for real. I keep expecting to see him. Or hear him. I don't want to remove those traces of him.

I can't. I've tried but I just start crying. I don't think I can do it, but I can't ask anyone else, and I can't leave it.

I'm not ready yet though.

Even now I miss him. It doesn't feel real. I can't imagine never seeing him again. I'm so angry that I didn't do better, but to be honest most of the time I just felt so lost with him. I hated to see him in such pain. Not to mention it was pain he had caused himself. I hated that he was hurting himself and that I couldn't stop him.
It frustrated me to no end.
It hurt me. Hurt that I felt so helpless and alone.