These days, I feel like I am stuck in a moment in time where everything seems to whizz by a million times faster. To be honest, I am generally okay, but the light in me has significantly dimmed. Suddenly, I am questioning everything I do. The body of work I passionately built for more than a decade feels insignificant and not worth pursuing anymore.
This feeling is scary; this must be grief.
You see, my six-year old Cat named Fighter passed on March 21, and two months later, my almost eleven-year-old Cat named Hiro passed on May 24, both having fought a hard battle with severe kidney disease. They were diagnosed in December 2021, together with their brother Orange, who I’m thankful is still very much with me.
Each day felt like a war against an ugly disease, and my brain is raging another war with my self-worth. I am still in the midst of coping with their illness, then their passing immediately sent me on a rollercoaster ride rolling backwards.
GLITCH MODE
There were unlimited moments of me being so depleted of energy. I struggled to keep my focus. Instead of being kinder to myself as I mourned my two Cats, I blamed myself for my slowness at work.
My brain was in full glitch mode.
Even with a full eight hours of sleep, I would wake up tired, dreading another grey day. If I accomplished something good, it usually took a couple of days’ rest. I didn’t know what vitality meant anymore. All I knew was that I was tired and my life battery was drained.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have close family and friends who supported me as soon as Fighter, Hiro, and Orange were diagnosed with life-threatening Chronic Kidney Disease (CKD). I will forever be grateful for all the help and love sent our way since day one. They grieved with me too when Hiro and Fighter crossed the rainbow bridge.
Everybody has been understanding and compassionate. I even considered myself spoiled by loved ones. In many ways, I was lucky, loved, and supported, but my vessel to contain love was torn and broken. I could not hold onto joy for long. For me, joy, like time, simply slipped away.
In many ways, I was lucky, loved, and supported, but my vessel to contain love was torn and broken. I could not hold onto joy for long. For me, joy, like time, simply slipped away.
This Hiro-lookalike figurine was given to me by my niece through the magic shop that is Shopee. Support from loved ones really feel like a healing balm.
SORRY, HEART
I know that I grieve this hard only because I poured all of my love for Fighter and Hiro. All of us have a lifespan. We will all pass whether we like it or not.
Apart from my CKD patient Orange are thirteen Cats. Yes, fourteen sets of eyes look at me lovingly everyday and depend solely on my dedication and care. Being responsible for another life meant seeing them through ‘til the very end.
Love entails some form of suffering, because such is the duality of life. I freely and wholeheartedly choose to give my heart to these beautiful felines, so I must endure. I will lay my heart on the line fourteen more times.
Always independent and wanting his own space, sleepyhead Hiro loved this step ladder by the window.
NEVER GOODBYE
It’s hard to accept that included in the memories we have are heartbreaking ones.
It was not that I completely stopped taking pictures; it was not that I have cursed it forever. In fact, I was still able to document them somehow. It was just that their frail bodies and the sickness in their eyes exposed my already wounded heart.
Whenever I could see their bones protruding as they suffered weight loss and muscle wasting, I knew that there was no Photoshop hack to hide that. There were only limited artistic angles available to mask the hard truth. Life is not always pretty and Cats don’t stay like kittens forever. We are lucky for the cute and fluffy days, but they include changes through the years. I often forget that pet photography is life photography.
Days after Fighter passed, a Fighter-shaped cloud appeared in the sky above his resting place. One day after Hiro passed, I dreamt that he regained his healthy weight back and that he was happily chasing me for some delicious treats. I knew that if only they had a say and could choose, they would never leave me.
Through the hardships and the management of their disease, they remained the sweetest male Cats I’ve ever held in my life.
Fighter, my white-and-ginger odd-eyed cutie, I hope you will continue to look out for me with those curious eyes.
RAINBOW
Fighter and Hiro were not my first pets to cross the rainbow bridge.
Booni, our 13.5-year-old Rabbit, required a different grieving process, because he died of old age with no serious illness. With Booni, we were blessed with many years – double the average lifespan of a Rabbit in the Philippines that it felt alien not to have him around for the next milestones of my life.
There was acceptance that we could extend his already long life only for so much.
Mom and Tortt, the mother and sister of Hiro, also suddenly passed from undiagnosed CKD during their senior years. Their death had a space of three years, so the sadness had individual healing space and time.
I’m only learning now that each grieving process is also a unique experience according to the animal companion and their circumstance: Hiro was able to enjoy a decade with me, while Fighter died so young. I need to remember that life and death are not perfect; thus, there is no perfect way to grieve.
I thought that if I had a vlog-friendly routine in place, then I would somehow be spared from the immensity of loss. Yet we are here – documenting my struggle, wanting to find Cat- shaped ghosts, and hoping that I will find my light again.
It helped that I was able to find this white Cat figurine and customize it with ginger markings to make it look like my Fighter. A marker gave me something to look at instead of a sad mound in the garden where they now rest peacefully.
ON THE WAY
Most days, I am shuffling around, reorganizing our home to make life as simple as possible. I admit that I am riddled with anxiety about my remaining Cats becoming sick. I have also become so fearful of death that I tend to forget to live and breathe.
I know it is an unfair way to face the present. I don’t want to waste the good memories waiting for me and my fourteen feline children.
By writing this piece and honoring my feelings, I am hopeful that my days of being lost will be over soon. Perhaps I can slowly let my worries go. Maybe this painful experience will bear fruit as I dig deeper and regain clarity with every teardrop.
