Thoughts While Running #009

running through grief

Christmas is my absolute favorite time of the year. A bold statement from someone who lamented the coming of Fall simply because it leads to Winter. And while I might be much happier when the temps are warm and the skies are sunny, there’s something about December that fills my heart. The coziness of it all; the warmth and sparkle of the twinkle lights almost making up for the fact that it gets dark at 4pm.

For me it’s always been a time for snug days inside with low ambitions of doing very little. The weather outside is frightful but inside it’s always delightful, right? It’s also always been a very family forward holiday for me, making up for time lost during all the other months because I’ve always lived a plane, train and automobile away. I used to make the trek back to Michigan each year until the pandemic and now with a toddler we choose to staycation instead, taking advantage of an empty city where we are able to do all or nothing of the things, honoring the traditions of the season while also creating new ones to carry forward. This time of the year can be so filled with joy and yet it can also amplify an emptiness felt of those who aren’t here to enjoy them with us. Whether it be family that lives far away or loved ones who are no longer present, who’ve passed on and the grief of not having them near magnified.

TW : The rest of my post today speaks to this grief of loved ones passing, which can be a bit heavy and triggering, especially around the holidays.

the best present i’ll ever have had under the tree.

Last year, four days after Christmas, I helped my cat of 17 years pass on. I was completely shattered, a hole in my heart so deep and so painful I struggled to process the rawness of the grief that I carried with me. He was so much more than a cat to me and to us that I struggled to express my own grief while supporting my husband through his. We were both so completely broken, our emotions so big and so raw. The only way I could get my own feelings to move through me was to move with them, putting on music that could drown out any noise from the outside world and fully envelop me in the grief I wore like a blanket.

I’ve always found running to be an amazing conduit for moving through emotions. A way to be in, out and with my body all at the same time. To turn off or tune in; allowing the miles and the music to hold space for me to process whatever was/is going on for me at the time. In the past I’ve run through anger (lunch runs in my former life), joy (Hawaii runs) and happiness (a slightly hungover run the morning after my wedding). Now I was running through a new emotion: grief.

The thing that sucks the most about grief is that it never goes away. There are days and moments when it gets quiet, starts to disappear, but in reality it just hides for a bit, waiting until some unsuspecting moment in time to reappear. I thought I was doing ok until I picked up the mail yesterday to find I’d received a ‘thinking of you’ card from the vet who came to our house to help Skurvy pass. I thought I was doing ok until I was idly looking through photos from a year ago and saw the ones I’d taken with Skurvy on his last day with us. I thought I was doing ok until Instagram suggested I watch a choral performance of Tracy Chapman’s ‘Fast Car.’ In each of these moments I was caught off guard by the flood of emotion so raw and so real it was as if no time had passed since that day I said goodbye to him in my lap, on his favorite spot on our bathroom floor.

skurvy living his best life on the bathroom floor; the place where he spent most of his time towards the end as the heated floor felt good on his old bones.

After he passed it was looking at this spot on the bathroom floor that was the hardest. Our bathroom is next to the back door to our garage and it had become second nature at that point to say hi to him whenever we left the house; to say hello upon each return. Having a newly minted toddler in the house ensured it was never quiet, and yet it still was. There was an emptiness that reverberated throughout the entire house after he passed that no amount of tornadoing toddler could fill. A hole that echoed so deep because it rung out from my inside of my heart.

The only way past grief is through it and the only balm is time. The more time that goes by the easier it is to grieve, as the pain of missing is replaced with the love of remembering. But the more time that passes the softer the memories become, the blurrier their edges. Little things become forgotten or just harder to remember and that alone brings a new set of emotions. Guilt for not doing a better job to remember and sadness as the new memories start to crowd out the old.

Skurvy living his best life, ignoring all concepts of 'personal space'

I have three Skurvy tattoos, the oldest from when I adopted him in 2006 and the newest acquired 2 months before the world shut down in 2020. While the rest of us struggled to navigate the absolute rollercoaster of shit that year was, Skurvy thrived, as he was a cat with separation anxiety and he no longer needed to separate from us. I wish he could have lasted one more year as I know he would have absolutely adored unemployed, work from couch, me; especially after so much of my time last year was consumed with caring for an infant. Skurvy gave us so much bonus time. A small cell lymphoma diagnosis in September 2018, kidney failure last year February…and yet he outlasted all the timelines, all the estimated life spans. He gave us so many extra innings and still I greedily wish he could have given us more.

I’ve been trying to find the words to describe our relationship, to articulate why his companionship was so important and unique for me, how his personality became so intertwined with mine and eventually with ours and I can’t. I’ve tried and no matter what I write it fails, falls short, feels flat in comparison to what was the big personality his tiny little body carried. There’s an unconditional love pets give us and Skurvy’s was unmatched. He was my companion through some of the most challenging times in my life. Seven different apartments, four different cities, two different countries; he was my constant through it all. I always knew he’d be home when I got there, waiting by the door, ready to be picked up and carried around the house. Excited to see me, purring so hard there would be a trail of drool down the front of my shirt. To mourn Skurvy is to also mourn this part of my life, the end of an era when it was the two of us (and eventually the three…and four of us). I’ll forever be thankful Skurvy hung on long enough to (begrudgingly) become a big brother.

my husband loved skurvy as much as i did and dougie was fascinated by the furry person who was always nearby.

Three weeks after Skurvy’s passing we adopted two new cats: Mama and her kitten Nacho. I wouldn’t recommend adopting new animals so soon, however, I knew I needed to. I needed the house to not be so empty, I needed Dougie to grow up with his version of a Skurvy, and I knew the longer I waited the harder it would be. It’s not that the pain of missing Skurvy would have deterred me from adopting again but rather it would have had given me time to try searching for the perfect cat to replace him. An impossible task as he was (and always will be) irreplaceable.

my attempt at training mama (top/left) and nacho (bottom/right) to cuddle

I’ll be taking the next week or so off as we snuggle up for some family time over the holidays. Fingers crossed, knock on wood we seem to be healthy so far so hopefully it stays that way. Wherever and however you might be celebrating, sending you all of the love and holiday cheer.

See you all in the new year,

xx