Even if you think, "I'll be fine now," the pain of pet loss can be deeper than you realize. At the end of last year, I opened an urn for the first time and faced my beloved cat's remains, and that fact hit me hard.
The tear-filled days were over. Surely, I thought, I could now face the remains with a smile. But when I actually opened the urn, unexpected emotions welled up.
The day I opened the urn, wanting to "override a tearful farewell"
It was the end of last year, more than seven months after my beloved cat Jiji passed away. I was playing a game with the urn by my side, as usual, when I suddenly thought, "Come to think of it, I've only shown tears to Jiji since he became ashes."

When cremating a beloved cat or collecting its ashes, it's inevitable for your face to become a mess of tears. It's unavoidable because of how much you love them. But I continued to feel a sense of guilt for only being able to be that way.

I spent so much time smiling when he was alive, and I tried to keep smiling as much as possible even during his illness, so it felt pathetic to cry so much at the very end.
Jiji was a gentle cat who would uniquely check if I was alive by rushing over and biting my arm when I hyperventilated, so I always regretted that I might have caused him unnecessary worry.

Now that I'm spending more time laughing with my husband about Jiji's cute moments when he was alive, rather than crying over him, I might be able to face his remains with a smile. ...Alright! I'm going to override the regrettable "tearful farewell."
With that thought, I opened the urn for the first time since my beloved cat passed away and faced his remains.

Honestly, it took a lot of courage to open it. How many times did I take a deep breath and tell myself, "Alright! I'm going to open it"? My two beloved cats, who had been relaxing, kept their distance and gave me cold stares, as if something was wrong with me.
The overwhelming urge to eat the ashes that welled up when I opened the urn
My pet loss grief is steadily healing. I probably wouldn't cry even if I faced the remains now. I wouldn't feel the same sadness as when I faced the remains after cremation, and I might even be able to view having the remains on hand as a positive, thinking, "Jiji is here."

That's what I thought before opening the urn. But the human heart is honest. The moment I opened the urn and the ashes came into view, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably. It was as if a side of me I hadn't imagined suddenly emerged, and I was surprised by myself.
Still, I pushed myself, saying, "You're going to face the ashes!" And when I picked up a small bone, I suddenly thought, "If I eat these ashes, will I be with Jiji forever?"

Actually, I've had this thought in my heart ever since Jiji passed away. A long time ago, when I read a certain cat manga, I learned for the first time that there are people who "eat the ashes of their beloved cats."
The author of the manga ate the ashes of their beloved cat after it passed away, and by making it a part of themselves, they felt that they "could live together forever."
When I read the manga, I hadn't experienced pet loss yet, and honestly, I was very surprised and questioned the act of "eating a beloved cat's ashes."

I was worried if it was "healthy," and I had difficulty understanding the feeling, wondering, "Wouldn't it be digested eventually, so how could it become one with me?"
No matter how much I loved my cat, I thought I wouldn't eat its ashes. But when I actually lost my beloved cat, I understood the author's feelings very well.
I know that even if I ingest my beloved cat's ashes into my body, they will be digested. And of course, considering my health, I wouldn't recommend it.

But I realized that the desire to "continue living with my beloved cat" overcomes all those practical matters.
Having a chronic illness, I ultimately didn't eat the ashes because of health concerns. But if I hadn't had any chronic illnesses, I might have eaten them that day.
For me, the ashes in the urn didn't make me think, "Jiji is still here." Instead, they forced me to confront the reality that "he is no longer in this world."
How should pet owners face their beloved cat's remains?
Because of this experience, I started thinking a lot about "how owners should face their beloved cat's remains." I can now look at the urn without crying. But when I look directly at my beloved cat's remains, it still pierces my heart.

And yet, only accepting the veiled form of the urn and not being able to face the actual remains of my beloved cat feels somewhat disrespectful to him. Perhaps it's because I tend to worry about small things, but I'm troubled by this.

As the pain of pet loss gradually eases, I wonder if my feelings when I see my beloved cat's remains will also gradually change. If anyone has experienced similar feelings, I would love to hear more about how their emotional state shifted.

I thought the pain of pet loss had pretty much healed, but when I faced the remains, it hadn't at all. I wonder how the pain of pet loss truly "heals." Thinking about such things, I still hug the urn today.





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ペットロス、骨壺を開けて知ったの文字に釘付けになりました。私の大事な猫もジジと言います。亡くなってもうすぐ3年になります。私は、皆様より情け無い飼い主でした。病気にさせ、苦しむ姿をみながら看病する間も泣く姿しか見せられず、亡くなってからも泣いてばかりで、毎日骨壺を抱き過ごし、夜はベットに入れて寝る日々を今だ続けています。1年くらいは、家の中に居ない事実がたえられず、疲れるまで近所を徘徊したりしました。もう守る者はない、いつ死んでもいいや〜と思うこともある始末。それでも、年くすり?ですかね。泣く時間は減りました。でも、命日が近づいてくるとダメですね、涙が止まらなくなり、たくさんのごめんが溢れてきて、ぐちゃぐちゃになります。この先何年続くのか?今だわかりません。次の子を迎えることはせず、あの子の居る空に逝くことが使命だと思っています。
私も食べたら消化してしまうので諦めました(笑)異常な考えかなと思ってました、良かった仲間がいて(笑)でもたまにあけて撫でてます。
お骨を見ても見なくても、食べても食べなくても、忘れても忘れなくても、一緒に過ごした時間が今の自分を作り上げてて、今もまだ共に生きていると思えるようになりました。
小さな欠片まで愛おしい、そう想える存在に出会えて幸せでした。
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