[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 the reality of it? This article describes my raw feelings six months after losing my beloved cat. I hope it can be a small step toward alleviating the pain of those who are going through days where their hearts feel like they're breaking.

For 2-3 months after her death, I couldn't accept the reality that my beloved cat was gone.

My late cat, Jiji, was the first cat I ever adopted on my own. She was full of personality, with a perfectly round face that didn't look like a cat's, and whiskers that were inexplicably curled. I smiled a lot during our time together.

She was a presence that brightened up any room just by being there, so our home felt as if the lights had gone out after Jiji passed away. I could smile with my face, but I couldn't smile from my heart. While I was saved by the presence of my other beloved cats, my heart was still yearning for Jiji.

Even though my head knew she was "no longer here," my heart cried "why isn't she here," and a flood of regrets washed over me. I thought I had done everything I could, but then a voice inside me would accuse, "Was it all just a pretense?"

Even after I stopped crying while holding her urn, the sadness didn't diminish. It just changed how it manifested for about 2-3 months.

Even after the storm-like anguish subsided, the "pain felt in fleeting moments" was agonizing.

While the "storm-like anguish" gradually subsided with time, what increased was suddenly remembering Jiji and crying at unexpected moments.

For instance, when I saw a calico cat on social media that looked like Jiji, tears would well up before I even felt "sad," and I would cry, "I want to see her."

The "pain in fleeting moments" was surprisingly abundant in my daily life. For example, grocery shopping. When cat supplies caught my eye, Jiji's image would reflexively come to mind, and I'd feel a tightening in my chest.

The ice cream section was particularly difficult. Even when I looked at my favorite ice cream to "change my mood and take care of my heart," seeing a 2kg bag of rock ice next to it would bring her last moments to mind, and my body would freeze.

Even though I knew that would happen, my feet were drawn to the rock ice every time. For a while, my husband would have to pull me away from the ice cream section every day.

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

While going through such days, I began to think that "just waiting for time to pass wouldn't alleviate the pain of pet loss."

Time might be a remedy with some effect, but perhaps facing one's own heart deeply is also important to enhance its effectiveness.

So, whenever my heart ached thinking of Jiji, I started voice-inputting my feelings into my smartphone's diary app.

When I spoke my sadness and pain aloud, not by typing but by voice input, my face became a mess of tears. It was then that I finally felt like I could objectively realize, "My heart is this hurt..."

Sadness and pain are difficult to vocalize, so they tend to accumulate in the heart. There are feelings we can't even tell our family. But precisely because of such emotions, I believe it's important to voice them.

In fact, through this self-care, I realized how much I had been suppressing the sadness and pain that arose in my heart on a daily basis.

When I looked back at my true feelings written in my diary, like "I'm lonely, I want to see you" and "It's hard to live in a world without you," I realized there was a part of me living with the desire to "make disappear" the natural emotions felt when losing someone important.

And when I realized that part of myself existed, I was able to think, "It's time to prepare to lift myself up from this rock-bottom heart."

Positively letting go of the expectation that the pain of pet loss will heal, and living in the "now."

Even now, six months after my beloved cat's death, there are still moments when I suddenly feel pain and think, "If only Jiji were here..." and I spend my days crying and voice-inputting my overflowing pain and thoughts of Jiji into my diary.

However, I've come to a point where I can think, "This is okay for now." I'm not strong enough to force myself to move forward, and I believe that if I live by desperately forcing myself forward while whipping my heart, I'll eventually reach my limit.

While living with the unfounded belief that "I'll welcome Jiji's reincarnation!", I also find my imagination running wild when I see a calico cat up for adoption at the local animal shelter, thinking, "I want to adopt this cat and make it as happy as Jiji would have been." My heart is constantly wavering, and that's the reality of now.

However, I want to continue to be sensitive to my own emotions. I believe this will lead to more opportunities to talk about Jiji with a smile than I do now.

I've given up on expecting a day when I can completely accept her death. Because the pain I've felt since her last moments is not a wound that can be accepted, nor can it be easily eased.

So, I want to keep crying and express my feelings for my late cat whenever I want to.

Even if people around me are exasperated and say, "Are you still down?" or "Are you still talking about that cat?", I believe that's how I can love my late cat.

In this way, by positively letting go of the expectation that the pain of pet loss will heal, or by finding a way to accept death that feels right to you, I believe there will be a slight change in a heart that is 100% sadness.

For those who are experiencing similar pain, it might be good to first deeply confront your own heart and have a conversation about "how to spend your time after pet loss."

— Jiji. Six months after your death, your owner is still so pathetic. I'm sure you're thinking, "Pull yourself together," at the Rainbow Bridge. But you know, this pathetic state is also proof of how much I loved you.

I was such a bad owner to realize after you died how big your presence was in my life, to the point where I couldn't even function normally. I want to go back to the day you were alive, even just for one day.

But there's one thing this bad owner can truly promise you. That is, I will love you my entire life.

When we meet again someday, please let me bury my face in your fluffy fur again. I've learned how precious every single strand of fur on my face was, so next time, I'll hug you even harder with all my might.

You'll probably push my face away with both paws and complain, "Too close!" (laughs)

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