WHEN THE ENDING IS ALSO A BEGINNING

This is one of my favorite passages in “The Grief Train” by Marinda Freeman.

 

— I have always created altars in my home – in my bedroom, living room and even outside. I started by creating beauty and beautiful arrangements of loved items and candles. I did this for years before I realized they were altars. For me, it is a space to honor the beauty of life, and perhaps, both the seen and the unseen of life. Crystals, candles, flowers or plants and objects of importance to me are included. Found objects, too, like a beautiful leaf or a heart-shaped rock will get added. It is always evolving and changing – reflecting that I am, too.

I have found that when someone I love has passed, I am immediately drawn to create an altar space with photos of that loved one, with other mementos and flowers, and a candle or two or three. This provides a focus for me to honor them and to physically ground that I am holding them in my heart. It is a place and a space for remembrance. When my friend, Jane, who was like my second mother, died, I kept her altar for a year. With Mike, I moved my altar to different places. At first, his pictures and other items were on my bedroom altar – on top of a large chest of drawers – with candles and a statue of Ganesha I bought him in Bali. For the first few months, I also created an altar space in the living room. After this ceremony for the second anniversary of his death, I put the photos on a shelf in the changing area in my bedroom, a place I look at every day, and added miniature statues of Indian Gods and Goddesses. This altar is still there. A place of my memories of Mike that I see every day.

When our cat, Clare, was put down, I printed out some photos of her and created an altar in the front hall – right in the center of the house – with flowers and a sculpture of a sleeping cat with wings I had found. Clare was sixteen years old and had been in our family for fourteen years. This was an important way for my daughter and me to acknowledge this sad passing in our lives. During this time, a friend died, and I put her photo on the altar with Clare. After a couple months, I moved the altar – with all the photos – to a new place in the living room. It didn’t need to be the first thing we saw when we entered the house anymore. The sculpture of the sleeping cat with wings was eventually placed on her grave at my friend’s house in the country.

Animals are as dear to us as our family and friends. It helps to acknowledge the grief by creating an altar to honor the place they held in the family.

The first cat I ever had was when I was given a kitten in the mid-1980’s. I was living in Connecticut in the woods. I called him Rocky. He didn’t like to be picked up but loved being petted. When he was a year old, he was run over. A neighbor found Rocky and buried him for me. I was devastated. I had no idea I would be so upset, so sad and grieving. Never having had pets growing up, I thought that saying, “I can’t see you now, my cat just died” was overstating the situation. I was so totally wrong. I was heartbroken. Losing a cat – or dog – is losing a family member. Grieving an animal is the same as grieving a person. It’s a heart connection, and it takes time to get over the change and the sadness.

I buried our cat, Thunder, just five months after we buried Clare. He was fifteen years old. The house was so quiet with him gone. Every day when I would come home, I would instinctively look for him and then remember that he was no longer here. He was such a sweet guy and had been my buddy following me around, keeping me company while I worked in the office or in the garden.

I made an altar for Thunder in the front hall so I could have a focus for remembering and mourning him. It was also to honor him for being part of our family and included pictures, his collar and a cat sculpture I purchased to eventually put on his grave.

My daughter was ten when she picked him out from three kittens neighbors left behind when they moved in the summer. We had an opening for a cat as our male cat, Hugger, was gone. She really wanted a black cat and there he was with big gold eyes. He got the cute kitten award at the vet when we took him in to get checked out. She named him Thunder. When the first rainstorm arrived late in the fall, he was out all night. He loved being in the rain. We knew he was not an ordinary cat. As he got older, we discovered he had what they call smoke fur – he looked like a black cat but with white on the inside half his fur.

It’s funny that a critter that doesn’t talk much would take up such a large space in my home and heart. I’ve found this with all my cats. I was surprised originally that cats were such wonderful company. After thirty-five years of cats, I decided to take a break to explore freedom without anyone at home I needed to take care of. It doesn’t mean that I’m not sad that Thunder is gone. It is an ending and a beginning.

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