A Beautiful Goodbye: 17.5 Years with Christie the Cat

Today, I have sad news to share. Earlier this week, Logan and I said goodbye to our furry family member Christie the Cat.

During the last month, Christie's health started to decline at a steady rate. She stopped grooming, lost interest in the things she loved doing, and rarely cuddled us. Last week, we became very concerned. She didn't eat or drink for 24-hours, so Logan and I took her to our veterinarian on Friday, February 26, 2021.

The news wasn't good. Dr. Moore, our veterinarian, said that Christie's weight had declined another ten percent. For a tiny cat, the news of more weight loss took my breath away. Then Dr. Moore told us that Christie developed abdominal tumors. I started crying. This was very bad news.

After talking with Dr. Moore, we decided to take Christie home for the weekend. Christie was given medication and fluids to keep her comfortable. That gave us a few more days to say goodbye.

Thankfully, Christie's last weekend was good. She ate tuna, slept on her heating pad, and wandered around with me in the early morning hours. I spent most of the weekend by her side. When Christie wasn't sleeping, she looked at us with so much love.

By Monday morning, Logan and I agreed it was time to let Christie go. Christie would have faced further weight loss, fast growing abdominal tumors, and pain. Euthanasia was the best option for Christie. It wasn't a decision we made lightly. And we couldn't have made the choice without Dr. Moore's wisdom, kindness, and compassion. We are grateful for Dr. Moore, Dr. Klein, and the whole team at Forest Animal Hospital. They are amazing humans.

Letting go of Christie was difficult and painful. And I’m grateful; grateful that she died peacefully. Dr. Moore and Jennifer—a kind vet technician—were with Christie as she died. Jennifer said Christie was ready to go and that she did not suffer. Goodbyes are hard and beautiful.

I keep expecting to hear Christie meow, saunter by slowly, or greet us at the door. Yesterday, I woke up from a nap panicked because we didn't have tuna for Christie's daily dose of medication. When I realized she was gone, I cried. It's going to take time to adjust.

In The Inner Life of Cats, author Thomas McNamee, wrote:

“ ... We love our cats with a purity and grace not possible in our love of our spouses, our parents, or even our children. People are too complicated for love as simple as what we bear to our cats. It is not agape, phileo, caritas, amor, or eros (roughly: selfless love, brotherly love, love of humankind, romantic love, and erotic love, respectively). I believe it has never been named. The kinship between our cats and ourselves reaches deep beneath consciousness, to a place before history, perhaps even before the development of self-expressible human intellect ... It is devotional, like prayer, and like prayer it is met with silence. Our devotion is what gives cats their power.”

And indeed, Christie was worth all the things – love, time, money, attention, and more.

I could write a book of stories featuring Christie. For example, Christie loved living in Siskiyou County. She was especially fond of our morning photos walks. Christie would follow me around with her tail straight up in the air. She looked like a little lion, and was so strong and fast! Christie even followed me into a wind storm; her tiny 8-pound body was at risk of being blown away. We ran back to the house together and snuggled.

I'm sad that Christie is gone. And, I keep coming back to gratitude. I’m grateful that she was part of our lives for 17.5 years. Christie had a long and adventurous life, and was a sweet and loving companion. She lived out her senior years in style and she will be in our memories forever.

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Now onto this week's links …

1. When Your Marriage (and Cat) Turn 17-Years-Old is a letter I wrote in July 2020 about how Christie came into our lives.

2. The Inner Life of Cats by Thomas McNamee is a beautiful, honest, and informative book. Before Elaina's cancer diagnosis in 2018, I discovered McNamee's book. It’s one of the few books that I’ve keep on my tiny bookshelf because it’s so good. Over the last month, I re-read sections of the book. McNamee’s chapter on illness, aging, and death was particularly helpful. Christie, like many cats, was good at hiding her suffering. As a cat parent, it's so important to pay attention.

3. An Intermission from Instagram by Rebecca Green is a helpful essay about the benefits and downsides of Instagram. I hope you read the essay and explore Rebecca's website. I adore her art! In 2014, Rebecca illustrated our tiny house for Flow Magazine. Long story short: Rebecca sent me the illustrations for free! She didn't want the illustrations to sit in a drawer, and she requested that we frame the pieces. We framed the art and I love looking at it daily. I adore the portrait she drew of Christie and Elaina.

The Girls

Art by Rebecca Green

4. I'll leave you with The Rainbow Bridge, a beautiful poem, that our vet gave us:

The Rainbow Bridge

By the edge of a woods, at the foot of a hill,
Is a lush, green meadow where time stands still.

Where the friends of a man and woman do run,
When their time on earth is over and done.

For here, between this world and the next,
Is a place where each beloved creature finds rest.

On this golden land, they wait and they play,
Till the Rainbow Bridge they cross over one day.

No more do they suffer, in pain or in sadness,
For here they are whole, their lives filled with gladness.

Their limbs are restored, their health renewed,
Their bodies have healed, with strength imbued.

They romp through the grass, without even a care,
Until one day they start, and sniff at the air.

All ears prick forward, eyes dart front and back,
Then all of a sudden, one breaks from the pack.

For just at that instant, their eyes have met;
Together again, both person and pet.

So they run to each other, these friends from long past,
The time of their parting is over at last.

The sadness they felt while they were apart,
Has turned into joy once more in each heart.

They embrace with a love that will last forever,
And then, side-by-side, they cross over... together.

—Author unknown

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Thank you for reading! If you find joy or inspiration from my work, please share it with a friend—or say thanks with a coffee.

With gratitude,
Tammy Strobel

On Love, Loss & See's Candy

Last weekend, we received sad news. Our sweet Grandma Pat passed away in her sleep. She was 96-years-old, and she was many things: classy, kind, hard-working, and humble. We knew Pat's death was coming. A few weeks ago, she opted for Hospice care. If times were normal, we could have visited Pat during the last few weeks of her life. But these aren't normal times.

I'm sad we couldn't visit Pat, and I'm feeling immense gratitude. We moved back to Northern California in September 2012 and over the past eight years we got to see Pat frequently. For example, when we lived in the same community, I occasionally took her to doctor appointments or grocery shopping.

On our adventures, I made it a point to ask Pat about her life experiences. I adored her stories! Pat grew up in Los Angeles, and as a little girl she'd sneak onto the Fox lot to watch movie's being made. I also loved Pat's stories about what it was like to live through the Great Depression and her transition from a city girl to a cattle woman. Plus, the lessons she imparted about living simply and saving money guided us to a happier life.

I shared a wisdom bomb from Pat in my journal—Everyday Adventures: Tiny Quests to Spark Your Creative Life. I thought it would be fitting to share again. Here’s what I wrote.

In late 2015, I drove my grandma-in-law, Pat, to a doctor’s appointment in Medford, Oregon. The drive from her home outside of Yreka, CA to Medford takes about one-hour. On the drive back home, we talked about a variety of topics including the healthcare system, my step-dad’s death in 2012, and what it means to live well into old age.

I asked Pat, “If you could give advice to an 18-year-old, advice that would help that person live a good life, what would you say?”

Pat offered the following:

1. Spend time with your loved ones.

2. Enjoy each moment because you never know what’s going to happen next.

3. Do the things you want to before your body or mind gives out.

No matter what your age, Pat’s advice is invaluable, and her words of wisdom are at the heart of this journal.

I will miss many things about Pat; especially our trips to See's Candy. When we did errands in Medford, OR, we always stopped at See's. Inevitably, we'd come home with a few boxes of candy. On each visit, I'd end up with chocolate on my shirt or face. Not Pat, though.

I will remember Pat in perfectly pressed white jeans, paired with a floral blouse, and jewelry and lipstick that matched. She was so classy! Just writing about Pat's style makes me want to up my wardrobe game.

Technically, Pat was my grandma-in-law, but she felt like my Grandma. And she reminded me of my Grandma Mable and Great Aunt Mamie. Both passed away shortly after I started college in 1998. If there is a heaven, I hope Pat will enjoy See's Candy with my loved ones. They never got to meet, and I suspect they would have been great friends.

We are sad Pat's gone, and we know it was her time. She is loved and is already missed.

Thank you for reading. Be safe!

With gratitude,

Tammy Strobel

Wish You Were Here

“I’d given talks for years about how when it comes to grieving, the culture lies—you really do not get over the biggest losses, you don’t pass through grief in any organized way, and it takes years and infinitely more tears than people want to allot you. Yet the gift of grief is incalculable, in giving you back to yourself.” — Anne Lamott

Last week, I was writing at a local coffee shop, sipping coffee, and in the background, a local artist was playing live music. He started singing a rendition of Wish You Were Here, and as he sang tears welled up in my eyes because the song made me think of my step-dad, Mahlon, and I wish he was still here. 

Today—June 10, 2018—marks the 6th anniversary of Mahlon’s death and over the past few weeks, I’ve been reflecting on love, loss, beginnings, and endings. Part of my reflection process included journaling sessions. I also went through my blog archive and reviewed some of the posts I wrote about Mahlon while he was ill and after he died. 

Since Mahlon died, I've tried to write various books about loss, resilience, and how grief impacted my life. For example, I wrote a book proposal about resilience and loss in 2013 (which was rejected by dozens of publishers), and I tried to write a memoir about love and loss in 2014. I stopped writing the memoir because the stories were still too raw and painful.

Over the years, I've continued to journal about love, loss, and why it’s important to talk about dying and death. Despite all the writing, a book idea has not gelled, and that's okay. Some topics take longer to compost, and there are also some facets of my life that I'll probably never share in a public forum.

Like Anne Lamott noted in Stitches, I don’t think it’s possible to get over big losses. Writing and photography helped me cope with Mahlon’s death. Yet Missing Mahlon—and the gratitude I feel for our relationship—will never change.

With gratitude,

Tammy

PS: If you’re struggling with grief, illness, or want to learn how to talk about dying and death more openly, I’d suggest exploring the following resources: 

Audio

• How we die in America (and why it’s important to talk about it).

• How to talk to someone who is grieving the loss of a loved one.

Books

• Being Mortal by Dr. Atul Gawande

• When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi

• Option B by Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant

• Stitches: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope and Repair by Anne Lamott  

On the Depth of Loss

Recently, I’ve been answering specific reader questions on the blog. If you have questions or topics you need help with, please email me.

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Hi there, Tammy,

I’m sorry if I missed this information or if you have written about it in a book, but I am curious how you dealt with the length of your grief for your dad. Specifically, did any one not understand the length or depth, pressuring you to “snap out of it?” I recently lost my grandmother with whom I was so close. My mother (her daughter) told me to snap out of it a week after her death. It seems to irritate my family that I am still emotional. (Not even a month yet!) I have kept my distance from them since, which makes them push me more. Not sure how to deal with all this. Thank you for any advice you can give me.

— Kim

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Kim,

I’m sorry for your loss, and I’m sorry to hear your mother and family have been pressuring you to “snap out of it.” It’s difficult to lose a loved one and even harder when family members don’t empathize with your feelings.

I feel incredibly grateful because my loved ones were empathetic and understanding after my step-dad, Mahlon died. However, some individuals wanted me to “get over my grief.” They thought I was "overreacting because my dad had been ill for months.” Another person told me, “We all die, so what’s the big deal?”

I was surprised by these comments and how angry they made me. When I felt spikes of anger rise, I tried to remember to breathe and remember that my feelings were valid and normal. I try to be honest about my life, both in my written work and with my loved ones. I don’t like to pretend that everything is okay or happy when that isn’t true, so it was hard to cope with not-so-nice comments about my grief.

I’m sharing the following tools that I used—and still use—to cope with grief, not as a blueprint for your situation, but with the hope they might benefit you in some small way.

1. Find a counselor. My loved ones were understanding and always willing to listen, yet talking to a trained professional was invaluable. It helped me find perspective and clarity surrounding my dad’s death and the changing family dynamic.

2. Be open and honest, even when it’s hard. Typically, friends who had negative reactions toward my grief were scared of death and illness. After honest conversations with these folks, I discovered their commentary was rooted in a place of fear. Rather than getting upset, I tried to empathize with their feelings. These conversations weren’t easy, but they mitigated misunderstandings.

3. Develop a journaling practice. In Writing as a Way of Healing, Louise DeSalvo said, “By engaging in lament, we care for ourselves. For not to express grief is to put ourselves at risk for isolation, for illness.” I journal every day because my pen and paper never fail to listen, and this was especially true in the first few months after Mahlon’s death. Journaling about my feelings gave me a safe space to rant, rave, and lament.

4. Prioritize self-care. After I returned home from Mahlon’s funeral, I was exhausted. Thankfully, I listened to my intuition and prioritized sleeping, eating whole foods, and hanging out with people who understood my circumstance. I’d encourage you to slow down and prioritize self-care.

5. Engage in creative activities that bring you joy. My photography series began out of intense sadness, but it’s turned into so much more. Taking my daily photo gives me the opportunity to practice gratitude, mindfulness, and it’s a way to honor Mahlon’s life. Focusing on creative projects, like photography and writing, has given my grief meaning.

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We live in a culture that ignores the reality of grief, illness, and death. These topics can be difficult to read and talk about because they force us to face our own frailty and mortality. However, we can learn from individuals who are struggling with a serious illness, and the loss of a loved one can teach us how to live meaningful and joyful lives.

Mahlon died in June of 2012, and since then, the intensity of my grief has changed. The first year after Mahlon's death was the hardest because there were so many firsts, like the first holiday without him and other milestones. I still miss Mahlon, and I don’t think that will ever change. However, his illness and death keep my daily life in perspective. Every day, I strive to create a meaningful life by working hard, making time to play, and practicing gratitude. Some days are better than others, but I always try.

Be well,

Tammy