Sobbing All Night with My Beloved Cat's Urn — 3 Songs That Gently Healed My Pet Loss

Surely, no one else can truly understand the depth of this pain. No matter how kind the words, or how much solace you receive, there are days during pet loss when you feel this way. At such times, instead of relying on "words from others," it might be better to find a way to comfort your own heart yourself.

For example, music. You can interpret the lyrics however you like, so immersing yourself in a song that syncs with your feelings can make you cry, and your heart can be filled with a sense of being "understood." After experiencing pet loss, I repeatedly listened to the three songs I'm introducing today to soothe my own heart.

"Amedama no Uta" (Candy Ball Song) that makes you understand "life" because there is "death"

I've always loved BUMP OF CHICKEN, but ever since my beloved cat Gigi started battling illness, the song "Amedama no Uta" really started to resonate deeply with me.

All living things will eventually die. Every encounter is followed by a farewell. Even though I understand this natural law, when "that time" actually comes, my heart fills with anxiety and the final day becomes terrifying. "Amedama no Uta" directly sings about this kind of anxiety.

"I want to be with my beloved cat for much longer," "I never want to be separated," "Don't leave me"... I wished for these things many times during his illness, chewing over the lyrics of this song, and cried. On the day I found out about my cat's cancer, I listened to this song crying and went home, telling him, "Let's fight this together."

On the day of his monthly check-up, I would listen to this song with a hopeful heart, thinking, "We're still together!" as I pressed the accelerator. "Amedama no Uta" was a song that naturally blended into my daily life during his illness.

Moreover, this song not only allowed me to empathize with the "fear of parting" described in its lyrics, but also made me reflect on how to accept a farewell.

The lyrics describe the wavering feelings of "me," who consistently does not pray for help from a god who cannot be seen and presumably cannot die. "Me," who has imposed upon himself the difficult choice of "not seeking salvation from God," confronts the fear of parting, and while wavering, arrives at the answer that "even if my precious 'you' dies, you live on in our world."

The lyrics are philosophical, but they really saved me. I'm also the type of person who thinks, "There's no God, so I won't pray for anything," so I could relate to the complex feelings of "salvation" that "I" harbored. And if I could think of it as "you live in our world," I realized I didn't have to force myself to make my days with my cat into mere "memories."

Furthermore, this song also seemed to convey the message that "life is life because it can be seen and has an end." Encountering such lyrics subtly changed my own perspective on death.

Farewells are sad, but because there is death, the once-in-a-lifetime encounter with my beloved cat becomes even more precious, and the time we spend together becomes irreplaceable. It's precisely because they're not robots that can be recharged and revived countless times that the days spent with living creatures are so beloved. I honestly felt that, and was able to accept death a little more.

"Amedama no Uta" is a song I recommend to anyone struggling with a beloved cat's illness or grappling with accepting a farewell, as it made me feel fortunate to have met someone whose parting could bring such pain.

"Nada Soso" that resonated on days I cried endlessly while holding an urn

For a while after Gigi passed away, I cried every night, holding his urn. Looking back now, this period was when the sense of loss was strongest.

During that painful time, I often listened to "Nada Soso." I would hold the urn, play the BEGIN version of "Nada Soso," and spend hours looking back at photos of Gigi saved on my smartphone.

As I looked back at the days I'd accumulated, I realized how much Gigi had made me smile, and tears came again... I wondered if he was happy with me as his owner. I also wondered if he had smiled a lot.

I want to see you, I miss you, I'm lonely... these feelings are sung so directly that my heart could easily synchronize with them. Listening to the song, it felt as if my vulnerabilities were understood.

And this song, besides expressing longing, also touched my heart with its quiet strength, singing about "living on until we can meet again someday."

When my thoughts would weaken to "My beloved cat is gone = What am I living for?", listening to this song would encourage me, "I'll have so many stories to tell him when I see him again!"

For me, it was like a charm on days I couldn't move forward.

"Kaze" (Wind) that brings back memories of "just before goodbye" spent on the balcony

Gigi passed away on May 16th. It was a time when the spring air was mixed with a hint of winter. Maybe that's why. Whenever I hear a spring song, it often reminds me of my days with Gigi.

Moreover, many spring songs have themes of encounters and partings. Listening to them, I naturally start to cry, which is difficult.

Among them, the spring song that has always deeply resonated with me is Kobukuro's "Kaze." When I listen to this song, which is themed around spring with a lingering chill, the last days I spent with Gigi vividly come back to me.

At our house, we strictly kept our cats indoors and never let them out on the balcony. But about a week before Gigi passed away, I did something different. I picked Gigi up and took him out onto the balcony for the first time.

I made that choice because I saw Gigi staring intently at the sunny balcony, not moving from the window. It was the first time I had seen him stare at the balcony so intently.

Usually, he would quickly get distracted and play with something nearby or cling to my leg.

"I want this cat, who spent over three months in a pet shop when he was young, to feel the warmth of the sun directly, just once." For some reason, that feeling welled up in me, so after taking thorough safety precautions, I carried Gigi, who no longer had the energy to struggle, out to the balcony.

At that moment, a soft breeze gently blew, and Gigi sniffed. He narrowed his eyes, feeling the outside air and bathing in the wind.

It was only about two or three minutes of "balcony sunbathing." Yet, Gigi's expression as he felt the sunlight and wind in my arms and narrowed his eyes, and that moment, remained so strongly in my mind and heart that I can still vividly recall it.

So, when I go out to the balcony to retrieve laundry and a gentle breeze blows, I feel like crying, and Kobukuro's "Kaze" plays in my head. I hope he's happily smiling on the Rainbow Bridge, feeling such a gentle wind.

Even when I want to shut out words from people, music allows words to enter my heart more easily, and through lyrics, I can sometimes encounter different ways of perceiving parting and death than before. I was reminded anew of the power of music through pet loss.

The songs that resonate differ for each person, so if you have any other songs you'd recommend or that have supported you, please let me know.

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