Grief is such an odd thing.

Yesterday afternoon, we laid my old kitty, Pickle, to rest. And it’s been far harder than I imagined it would be.

I got Pickle when I was 24 years old. He lived most of my adult life after college (1.0) with me. He moved from Seattle to Iowa to Seattle to Iowa when I couldn’t decide where I wanted to be. He saw all my major relationships (marriages) when they were good and when I needed to leave. He was a constant in my adult life, and now he’s gone.

I hold so much guilt for – honestly – the past 6 years. When Kiran and I moved in with my parents, my cats couldn’t come. Yes, they had a loving home, and yes, I visited them often (they were with Eric at his house – for 3 years!), but they weren’t with me. And I am pretty sure Pickle never forgave me for bringing a puppy home two years ago. He was not impressed, and he was not a fan.

But Tux sure thought Pickle was great and they were best friends, and watching him grieve the loss hurts my heart even more.

I wish I would have had the same capacity to love and care for Pickle in these last three years that I had in the first ten years he was mine. It happens, though – life gets busy with a kid, and I know my caregiving capacity is often at its max. Still, I hold guilt that I wasn’t able to uphold his dignity in the end – his long, regal fur full of mats and dirty – he always did hate being brushed or groomed in any way.

I know I have to let it go, eventually. And I know how much I loved him – and he knows, too. He was my first baby boy. My first pet as an adult. And it all hits even more because suddenly, we are a no-cat household. I started grieving Pickle when we had to let Olive go almost two years ago, because he was only one year younger. I knew this time would come. And I’m deeply sad about it.

I envy Kiran at times like this. I am honestly not sure if that sweet boy knows sadness. He is purely in the moment all the time, and his moments are just filled with joy. It is hard to stay sad.

But Kiran’s in bed now, and the sadness comes. Typically a person who wants to go through the stuff and get it out of my sight and out of the house immediately, I am finding myself paralyzed to go downstairs and clean up Pickle’s area. He spent a lot of his time either in the basement (where the dog wasn’t allowed) or right at the top of the stairs in his favorite box. At my request, Eric took the box out today. I don’t know which was worse – seeing it there or seeing it gone.

I know that I grieve hard – and well – because of my life experiences with heavy loss. And I know that the immense sadness is because of the incredible love. And I know – he was “just” a cat – but he was family, my baby boy, my Pick. And I’m sure gonna miss him.