Slipped away, passed on, gone – all words we use to describe death. Soft gentle words like the night that slips in on little cat feet – death comes and breath is gone, soul is gone, life is gone and we are left, alone bereft and wishing for one more moment, one more hour, one more day.
Watching you suffer I am glad that you no longer are in pain but I miss you. I long for the sparkle in your eyes and the melody of your laughter. I miss the rhythm of your breathing that brought peace to my heart when I would awaken from my nightmares. Just listening to it would begin to bring a calm that would lull me back to sleep.
Selfishly I will miss you for what you were to me. Companion and friend, keeper of my secrets, lover of my soul, my co-conspirator in the game of practical jokes amongst our friends.
I can’t imagine laughing without you, I can’t imagine living without you, I can’t imagine a moment without you here. For even in the moments you were not with me I was storing them up to tell you about them. As you got sicker and weaker, I became ever more vigilant in the moments we were apart to catch the details so that you would be able to share them with me in the retelling.
Who will I tell all the inconsequential and little things of my life to? You know I’m not much of a cat person and a dog would certainly starve to death waiting for me to feed it. You were the one who was good with those things. Whose birthday’s next? Where are we supposed to be next Tuesday? Oh wait we … we … slipped away, passed on, gone
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