Lets rewind a touch.
I moved out...and I was lonely. Lonely and depressed. I went to the doctor and she suggested I get myself a cat. She said it would help ease the loneliness. I thought it was crap. That it was just my medication acting up.
I went to my great grandma's and talked to her. In her infinite wisdom she said, "It sounds like a good idea."
I emailed my landlord...and I waited. I waited for the "okay". When he said that it would be okay, I drove out to the homestead and waited for someone to go with me. My sister went with me...and that's where I met Stan.
August rolled around, and I knew there was something gravely wrong with this sweet, sweet cat. My boyfriend said, "We'll take him to the vet and he'll be fine. I promise." I looked at him and cried while I held Stanley. I said, "No. He won't be okay." Somehow, I just knew.
Stanley died the next day.
A few days later, I got the sweetest card from my family. Everyone wrote something incredibly sweet. My mom wrote, "Remember the dance." My sisters' recognized how much I loved him...and how much they knew he loved me. My grandma (AKA: Nana) said that he was such a lucky cat to have me.
And, my great grandma. Somehow, she knows. She knows everything. Every feeling. Every emotion. She wrote...
"Ashley
One of life's lessons-our love of our pets.
-Grandma Nelson"
How does she know these things? Oh, that's right. She's all knowing. Plus, she has nearly 70 years of life on me. She knows the pain of losing a pet.
My great grandma was raised on a "farm" in Wyoming. There really wasn't much to farm. Apparently, when livestock was herded through the town of Lyman, there would be stragglers. Sheep...cows...who knows what else. They had a flock of sheep. Leftover sheep from other flocks. A flock of lost sheep. (How sad is THAT?)
Her dad gave her this little lamb. She was given charge of this sweet little straggler. He said, "Ardee, this is your lamb. I need you to hang her from the wagon so she can use her back leg." She did as she was told. She hung the lamb from the wagon, and then walked her around the yard. She fed her. And she loved her.
My great grandma knew not to name animals. She knew the circle of life at a young age. Apparently, she felt that this lamb was a kindred spirit of sorts...and she named her. She named her Lily. I asked my grandma why she named her Lily, and she said, "We had wild lilies. And they were the only flowers around. They were beautiful."
About three weeks after my great grandma took charge of this lamb, she died. My great grandma was heartbroken. She went to her mom's room, and took this beautiful piece of silk and wrapped it around this little dead lamb. She took her brother and sister down to the "grave site" and made them "mourners by default". She said that she did what she thought a funeral was...and she buried her Lily.
Her mom never mentioned the missing silk (which I imagine would be worth something...especially in the 20s). She just let it go.
Now, my great grandma knows a lot about loss. And the thing I appreciate the most about her is the fact that she let me cry with her. She let me mourn my cat. She didn't make me feel silly, or out of life. She just told me it would be okay...and that this is just another part of life.
I wish I knew a fraction of what she did.
Oh well. That's life.
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