Saying goodbye

I came out here three weeks ago, with a shovel and a box.


I discovered rather quickly that the spot I chose was criss-crossed with tree roots. But then, probably every square foot in here is, and I'd already made up my mind.

There wasn't much green at the time, and nothing was flowering yet.

I wished I had brought a different shovel.


I smashed through the tree roots in my way, and dug down until I hit soggy clay. It stuck to my shovel like the grief in my heart, and I couldn't shake it off. I tried to scrape it away with a stick, but the stick was decaying and it broke.

The hole wasn't as deep as I wanted.

I gently lowered in my friend of fifteen years. My beautiful blue-eyed white kitty, my companion through boyfriends, fights with my mom, dilemmas about college, the future and the unknown... this was the cat who travelled round-trip across the country with me, twice, and apparently forgave me for it. She was by my side while my husband was in the military, through the first five years of our marriage when we were apart more than we were together. She was the determined missile that would launch herself from the floor, landing on my shoulder whenever she felt like enjoying the view. She was the thief of baked goods which were unfortunate enough to be left on the counter. If she didn't appear when I cracked a raw egg, it meant she was surely locked in a closet.

I threw my soaked tissues in the hole and began to fill it in, then wished I had kept one as I wiped my face on my sleeve.


When I stomped the dirt down to secure the top of her grave, I realized I was wearing my good shoes. They were now caked with wet clay and bits of dead grass.

Too late.

I found the mightiest fallen tree that I had the strength to move, dragged it over and placed it on top. I'm not sure why.


Goodbye Priss.

And I walked away with a heart that felt as heavy as my clay-caked good shoes.