[True Experience] How does the pain of pet loss change over time? My "real feelings" six months after my beloved cat passed away

We often hear that "time heals pet loss," but what is it like in reality? For those who may be wondering the same, I have written down my raw feelings six months after losing my beloved cat. I hope this can serve as a small comfort to those of you currently struggling to hold yourselves together.

For the first 2-3 months, I couldn't accept the reality that my cat was gone

My late cat, Gigi, was the first one I had ever brought home myself. She was full of character, with a perfectly round face that didn't seem like a cat's, and whiskers that were inexplicably curled. I received so many smiles from the time we spent together.

She was a presence that brightened the room just by being there, so after Gigi journeyed to heaven, our home felt like the lights had been extinguished. I could smile on the surface, but I couldn't smile from my heart. While I was saved by the presence of my other cats, my heart was still constantly searching for Gigi.

Even though my head knew she was "gone," my heart would cry, asking "why isn't she here?" and waves of regret would wash over me. I felt like I had done everything I could, yet a part of me would emerge to blame myself, whispering, "Wasn't it all just an assumption that you did enough?"

Even after I stopped crying while holding her urn, the sadness didn't fade. For about two or three months, it was just that the way the grief manifested had changed.

Even after the storm-like anguish passed, the "sudden stabs of pain" were difficult

While that "storm-like anguish" settled down over time, what increased alongside it was the tendency to cry at random moments when I remembered Gigi.

For instance, when I saw a tortoiseshell cat on social media that looked like Gigi, tears would well up before I could even think "how sad"—I would just cry because I wanted to see her.

These "sudden stabs of pain" were everywhere in my daily life, more than I had imagined. For example, when shopping at the grocery store. Seeing cat supplies would reflexively bring Gigi's image to my mind, and I would feel a tightening in my chest.

The ice cream aisle was particularly painful. Even as I looked at my favorite ice cream, thinking "I'll change my mood and take care of my heart," catching sight of the 2kg bags of block ice lined up in the same section would bring her final moments to mind, causing my body to freeze.

I knew that would happen, so I should have avoided it, but for some reason, my feet were drawn to the block ice every single time. My husband would have to pull me away, and that went on for a while.

"Just letting time pass" didn't ease the pain of pet loss

Going through those days, I started to think, "Maybe the pain of pet loss doesn't ease just by waiting for time to pass."

Time might be a medicine that has some effect, but perhaps it is also important to face your own heart thoroughly to increase its effectiveness.

So, whenever my heart ached with thoughts of Gigi, I began using a diary app on my smartphone to record my feelings via voice input.

When I chose to voice my sadness and anguish as spoken words rather than typing them out, my face would be a mess of tears. I felt like I could finally realize objectively, "Oh, my heart is hurting this much."

Sadness and anguish are difficult to voice, so they easily accumulate in the heart. There are even feelings you can't tell your family. But precisely because they are those kinds of emotions, I believe it is important to voice them.

In fact, through this self-care, I learned how much I had been suppressing the sadness and anguish that surfaced in my heart every day.

When I looked back at the honest feelings I’d recorded in my diary—like "I'm lonely, I want to see you," or "It's hard to live days without you"—I realized that I had been living my life trying to "wish away" the natural emotions one feels when losing someone precious.

And when I realized I was doing that, I was able to think, "Is it time to prepare to rescue my heart from the depths?"

Positively accepting that the pain of pet loss may not heal, and living "in the now"

Even now, six months after my cat passed away, there are moments when I suddenly feel painful, thinking "If only Gigi were here," and I spend days tearfully recording my lingering thoughts of her into my diary.

However, I’ve reached the point where I can think, "It's okay to be this way for now." I’m not a strong enough person to force myself to look forward, and I believe that if I spend my life whipping my heart to keep moving forward, I will eventually hit a wall.

While I live in hope of the unfounded theory of reincarnation—thinking "I’ll welcome back Gigi’s reincarnation!"—I also find my imagination expanding when I see adoption postings for tortoiseshell cats at the local animal shelter, thinking "I want to take this one in and make her happy in Gigi's stead." My heart is swaying; that is my reality right now.

However, I want to continue being sensitive to my own emotions. I believe that will lead to more opportunities to talk about Gigi with a smile than I have now.

I’ve stopped expecting a day to come where I can fully accept her death. Because the pain I’ve felt since her final moments is not a wound that can be fully accepted, nor is it something that fades easily.

So, I want to live by continuing to cry and speaking about my thoughts on my late cat whenever I want to.

Even if people around me are baffled, asking, "Are you still depressed?" or "Are you still talking about her?", I believe this is how I love my late cat.

When you find a way to accept death that feels right for you, or when you positively give up on the expectation that the pain of pet loss will simply "heal," I think a change will start to occur in your 100% grief-stricken heart.

If you are carrying a similar pain, it might be good to first face your own heart and engage in a dialogue, asking yourself, "How shall I spend my time after this loss?"

——Gigi. Even six months after your passing, your owner is still this much of a mess. I’m sure you’re at the Rainbow Bridge thinking, "Get it together!" But you know, this "messiness" is proof of how much I loved you.

I was a poor owner, only realizing after you were gone just how large your presence was in my life, to the point that I can't even get through my daily routine. I wish I could return to the days you were alive, even for just one day.

Still, there is one thing I can swear to with all my heart, even as this kind of owner: I will love you for the rest of my life.

When we meet again someday, let me bury my face in your fluffy fur once more. I’ve realized just how precious every single strand of your fur was, so next time, I’ll hold you with all my strength.

I’m sure you’ll reach out and touch my face, complaining that I’m "too close!" (laughs)

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