As I closed the cottage door behind me this morning, I heard a noise inside. When I looked, I was stunned. Oh, no! White Kitty on the floor in a hundred pieces!
A very young part of me began to cry. The three-year-old who had received it as a gift from her Daddy, was in shock and overwhelmed with raw grief.
As I swept the floor, I remembered the many shelves upon which White Kitty had been displayed over the decades. Never packed away for safe keeping, she went from my childhood dresser, to my teenage desk, to my newlywed hutch. She watched over Baby Britain from the changing table, spent several years on the living room fireplace mantle, and did a stint in Mom’s sick room.
After Mom passed, I took White Kitty to the cottage to join several other memory-filled treasures. The grown-up part of me knows nothing lasts forever. She is sad but ready to move on. The three-year-old, though, is really struggling.
So I allowed that part of me to dig through the trash and put White Kitty’s head and the tip of her tail back on the shelf. Later, I got the urge to retrieve the rest of the big pieces and put them in a box. It just didn’t seem right to throw Kitty away like that. She needed to be honored, to be acknowledged for the 56 years of faithful service. A nice box, a few words, and a friend or two to help say goodbye.
Good grief! The three-year-old wants a funeral! I want to say, “Get real, girl! It’s just a ceramic figure!” But I would never say that to an actual three-year-old in pain. So, I am choosing not to say it to myself either. The fragile part of me deserves compassion, understanding, and most of all, some time to let go of a lifelong treasure.
So, I’ll leave the head on the shelf for a while and the rest of the pieces in the box. Showing compassion, tenderness, and love toward myself is a new practice for me. I’m not sure how this will unfold, but I do know, there’s no hurry. I will trust my heart to lead the way.
Barbie, there is something really wonderful about this post. I am very sad about your cat (and I remember feeling a similar way about a wooden ornament my daddy bought me that had an unfortunate accident – it isn’t as broken as your kitty but I still have it), but your part about “I would never say that to an actual three year old in pain” is really interesting. Perhaps it is a good thing to stop and ask ourselves often before we speak hard words. We want to be truthful, but we don’t need to be hurtful, and asking ourselves how we might speak to a child is a really interesting way to approach it! When my wooden ornament broke, my husband instructed me to throw it out. I love my husband, of course, but that hurt. The ornament represented more than that to me, and it was complicated. Perhaps if he had stopped first and asked himself why I reacted like a child, and his words had recognised the child in me, he would have said something completely different.
I am sure you will find the right thing to do with your cat. Hugs.
Thank you, Liz, for your kind words and for sharing your own stories. I was feeling pretty lonely in my grief this morning, but not any more.
OMG! Poor kitty, poor Barbie! I am so there with you and glad that you are honoring the imperfect kitty by having her on a shelf. She looks beautiful. And I am reminded — When I took my mom’s old Singer sewing machine for tune-up, repair last fall, I was told that the motor was shot! She had given it to me when she purchased a new fancy one… It continued to run for what seemed like forever and now it was no more. I cried, sobbed, remembering all the dresses she had sewn, all the costumes, curtains, even a prom dress, on that machine. And all the costumes I had sewn for my son, the house dresses for my grandmother, pillow covers, curtains, mending. it was all too much! I still have that sewing machine in its cabinet in the guest room. My son suggested eBay for a new motor… good idea. If it doesn’t work, I’ll still keep it. In my world of reduced clutter and major purges, even some “broken” imperfect things need to be saved.
Cate, you reminded me that I have my mom’s sewing machine packed away. I made my wedding dress on that thing! I suppose it’s ” working” if it’s stirring up all those memories.
What a poignant story! Barbie, you have such a gift for telling these stories. I love the fact that part of White Kitty is still perched on a shelf in the cottage. And that you ‘re honoring her, along with yourself.
A very moving post Barbie – thank-you. I am reminded of the quote by Maya Angelou, “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away”. Anguish is real and not to be brushed away, whatever ‘number’ of years we have reached. I love the fact that with greater tenderness and compassion towards ourselves, we can get right back in touch with the feelings/emotions of our 3 year old selves. What a beautiful gift that is, not just to our present day self, but in accessing and being sensitive to the feelings of other 3 year olds – whether they be children, grandchildren, or even great grandchildren. Sending big hugs to you ❤
Thanks, Christina. I really like your perspective that as we love our own inner child, we are more open to the children in our lives. Probably more accepting of the child side of our adult friends, too, huh?
Absolutely. Exploring, connecting and relating with the eyes and heart of the child is living with wisdom and joy 🙂
Hey I am so excited I found your wpbgaee, I really found you by error, while I was searching on Askjeeve for something else, Anyhow I am here now and would just like to say thank you for a marvelous post and a all round thrilling blog (I also love the theme/design), I done28099t have time to go through it all at the moment but I have bookmarked it and also added in your RSS feeds, so when I have time I will be back to read a great deal more, Please do keep up the awesome work.