[Pet Loss Experience] The death of my beloved cat, which I thought I had overcome – the "feelings that are still here" that I learned by opening the urn

Even when you think, "I'm probably okay now," the wounds of pet loss can be deeper than you realize. At the end of last year, for the first time, I opened the urn and faced my beloved cat's remains, and the truth of that hit me hard.

The days filled with tears were over. I was certain that I could face those remains with a smile now. But when I actually opened the urn, unexpected emotions came flooding out.

The day I opened the urn, wanting to overwrite my "tearful goodbye"

It was the end of last year, more than seven months after my beloved cat Gigi had passed away. As I was playing a game with the urn by my side, as I often did, I suddenly thought: Come to think of it, I’ve only ever shown Gigi’s remains my tears.

When cremating a beloved pet or collecting their bones, it’s only natural for your face to be a mess of tears. It’s inevitable, precisely because you love them so much. Yet, I continued to carry something like guilt for the fact that I couldn't be any other way.

In life, Gigi spent so much time smiling, and during her illness, I tried my best to stay smiling as much as possible, so it felt pathetic to be sobbing at the very end.

Gigi was such a sweet girl that when I would have a hyperventilation attack, she would rush over and bite my arm—a unique way of checking if I was still okay—so I always had this regret that I had caused her unnecessary worry.

Now that I talk and laugh with my husband about her cute antics instead of just crying, perhaps I could face her remains with a smile. Yes! I would overwrite that regretful "tearful goodbye."

With that sudden inspiration, for the first time since my cat passed, I opened the urn and faced her remains.

Honestly, it took so much courage to open it. I don’t know how many deep breaths I took, trying to psych myself up. My other two cats, who had been lounging about, kept their distance and gave me cold, suspicious looks.

The feeling of "wanting to consume the remains" that welled up when I opened the urn

I thought I was someone who had steadily been healing from pet loss. Surely, even if I faced her remains, I wouldn’t cry anymore. Maybe I wouldn’t even feel that sadness I felt right after the cremation, and instead, I could see it positively—that "Gigi is here" because her remains are in my hands.

That’s what I thought before opening the urn. But the human heart is honest. The moment I opened it and the remains caught my eye, I realized I was sobbing and choking back sobs. I was shocked, as if an unexpected side of myself had suddenly emerged.

Even so, I pushed myself, thinking, "You're doing this to face her remains!" and as I picked up a tiny bone, I suddenly thought: If I ate these remains, would I be able to stay with Gigi forever?

Actually, this thought had been in my mind since right after I lost her. Years ago, while reading a manga about cats, I learned for the first time that some people take the action of "consuming their pet's remains."

The author of that manga felt that by eating her cat's remains and making them a part of herself, she could "continue to live together."

At the time, not having experienced pet loss yet, I was honestly quite shocked and felt skeptical of such an action.

I worried about the health risks and struggled to understand the emotional logic—like "wouldn't it just be digested, making integration impossible?"

No matter how much I loved her, I didn't think I would ever eat my cat's remains. Yet, having actually lost my own, I understood exactly how the author felt.

I know the reality that if I take the remains into my body, they will be digested. And, of course, from a health perspective, it's not something I would recommend.

But I realized that the desire to "keep living together with my pet" outweighs all those realistic concerns.

Since I have a pre-existing medical condition, I ultimately didn't eat the remains out of concern for my health. But if I hadn't, I might have done it that day.

For me, the remains in the urn didn't make me feel that "Gigi is still here"; instead, they thrust the reality that "she is no longer in this world" back upon me.

How should an owner face their "pet's remains"?

This incident has made me think a lot about how owners should face their pet's remains. I’ve become able to look at the urn without crying. But when I look directly at the remains, my heart is still torn apart.

Even so, only accepting the "buffered" version of her that is the urn, while being unable to face the remains themselves, feels somewhat disrespectful to her... Perhaps because I’m the type of person who dwells on small things, I find myself worrying about this.

I wonder if the feelings I have when looking at her remains will change gradually, just as the wounds of pet loss soften over time. If anyone has experienced similar feelings, I would love to hear more about how your state of mind evolved.

I thought I had healed quite a bit from my pet loss, but when faced with the remains, I realized I wasn't there at all. At what point can you truly say you've "healed" from the pain of pet loss...? Thinking about that, I’m holding the urn tightly again today.

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