I can’t believe it’s been three years since my little Lucy crossed the rainbow bridge and took a little piece of my heart with her.
I remember how gutted I felt watching her waste away before my very eyes in the six days. On Thursday, June 15, I learned that she had a very limited amount of time left, and on Wednesday, June 21, I took her on her very last trip to the vet to say a final goodbye.
Part of me still feels stupid for crying so much over a silly little cat. Part of me is aware that there’s so much more going on in the world and people have lost so much more than I will ever begin to comprehend.
But I believe more than ever that it’s okay to mourn the loss of a pet. They’re the ones who are seemingly always there, a quieting comforting sort of presence in the chaotic world. They’re the ones who give unconditional love and understanding when you need it most and deserve it least.
Part of me still feels sad that she’s not here anymore. Part of me knows that I was blessed to have a loyal companion who was fiercely devoted to me for 17 good years. And yes, if I had the chance to do them all over again, I wouldn’t hesitate. Even the hardest parts and the saddest days.
I don’t really understand a lot about animals and angels, but I sometimes wonder if my little Lucy wasn’t a guardian angel in disguise.
Lucy, you were the best. I could never in a million years hope to replace you. I hope you don’t mind that I found a rescue nine days after you passed so that all the love in my heart had a place to go and didn’t have to run down my cheeks in the form of tears.
I miss you every day and you will forever remain my baby. If I have my way, I’ll see you again tonight in my dreams.