'Tis Better to Have Loved and Lost...
I’ve been an animal lover all my life. Had Mom let me, I would have assembled a menagerie rivaling Ellie Mae Clampett’s. It tested my husband’s patience when I welcomed Cleopatra into our “pet-heavy” home a few months ago. An Oriental shorthair kitten who required more attention than my daughter was prepared for (they’re very social, like dogs), Cleo and I instantly fell in love, especially since my eyes and nose didn’t burn when she curled up by my face and purred. She was gorgeous, smart, inquisitive, fearless and people oriented. She was also a killer, bringing birds and dead mice in through the doggie door. She’d leave night crawlers on the kitchen rug for me to step on as I made coffee in the morning. Cleo quickly became my constant companion and a best friend for me and my dog Ringo.
I accidentally killed my sweet Cleo two days ago in a freak studio accident, when a box of vinyl plank flooring slipped from my hands and crashed onto her little frame. She didn’t suffer, but I’m broken, shattered by the guilt of causing her death and deeply missing my little companion.
Ten minutes before it happened, we were having a great afternoon in the studio. I was painting and singing, arms lifted to Tobymac’s “Made to Love": “Anything, I would give up for You, Everything, I’d give it all away…” and I meant it. Surrendering all to the Lord means accepting what happens and knowing that He’s in control and He’ll work all things for good for those who love Him… (Rom 8:28). Tragedies and trying times in my life have made real this promise. I’ve no doubt God’s in control, whether He allows it or ordains it for my good. Then, ten minutes later, I killed my dear kitten!
I can’t believe that God made me drop the box or put her under it. She was three feet away when I picked it up and I was only moving it a few feet. I can believe 1 Peter 5:8, that “the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.” What better way to torture someone who just sang they’d surrender all? “Oh really?” he asks, “how about now?”
My guilt and sadness are deep and anguishing for the loss of such a new friend. I know from experience that this doesn’t begin to compare to losing my daughter in labor, just as a stillbirth is far removed from losing a spouse or child who’s been a part of your life for years. It doesn't compare to my daughter losing her one and only pet, dear Winstonchurchill, two weeks ago. Pain is relative. I realize that I’m no longer the callous, ranch-raised, “animals die” cowgirl I once was. “Cowboys don’t cry,” my grandma used to tell me.
Lately I’ve become more like the little girl I was before life hardened my deep compassion and empathy into a stoic resolve to maintain composure in trying events. I think back to horses and dogs I’ve loved and lost in my life, and this seems so much more painful-mostly because I caused it, but also, I think, because I love much more deeply, like that little girl I used to be. I think my ability to love with abandon has grown with my faith lately. I allowed myself to fully love that little cat, and she was so easy to love.
Fully loving Cleo means fully feeling the loss of her. I weep each time I enter the studio, each time I expect to see her, hear her, or feel her sleeping next to me. My daughter, the philosopher, tells me, “Tears are shed only by those both strong and courageous. The weak abolish their uncomfortable emotions and refuse their sobs.” I’d thought my stoicism was strength. Turns out she’s right; it’s much harder to feel the pain and loss of loving fully. God loves us more than we can even comprehend, so much that Jesus died for us. The more I love my Savior, the more I’m able to love people, animals, everyone. I can love with the risk of loss and pain.
I can feel the prayers of family and my small group friends I shared this with. And even though I’m grieving, already I can go back to the lyrics of that song and say with feeling, “Everything, Lord.” I know He’s in control. Rest in peace, my dear, sweet Cleo.