Dying on a cold cloudy day

Everyone has the right to die in their own unique way. The day is cold and damp, nothing but deep clouds in the sky, not even a hint of sunshine. And Eva spends nearly all of her time resting on her bed with the heated throw to keep her warm. Her body seems to be shrinking before my eyes. She eats little—some rice cooked in beef broth, a little mango yogurt, a few slivers of deli turkey. She drinks a few sips of water. And I keep the death watch. I get up in the middle of the night to check on her, to take her to the bathroom. I don’t sleep much. Even in the middle of the night I usually find her awake, sitting up in her bed, staring vacantly into the darkness. She may acknowledge me when I ask how she’s doing but she turns from me if I try to hold her. She is in her own world it seems, retreating into something that is beyond my understanding.

But it has been her life, and now it’s her death. I don’t own it. The only input I have is how I care for her, how I try to honor her journey. It’s breaking my heart to know that today, tomorrow, soon her final day is coming. I will miss her.

Eva is 17 years old, rather old for a cat. She is beautiful, even still, even though her body is failing fast, I still see that beautiful kitten, that young wild girl in her face. I won’t let her suffer. When the time comes, I will do what she would want me to do. She will tell me when it’s time or she will simply die on her own. I am cherishing these last days while at the same time I am steeped in deep sorrow. My girl, my companion for so many years. . .