Goodbye, Caesar

I can’t believe I’m writing this.

Okay, here goes.

Yes, I know: to love deeply is to grieve deeply. But here I am again, with “goodbye” lodged in my throat.

Just over three years ago, I adopted Caesar and thought I was saving him. Everyone knew — he certainly did — that it was the other way around. He gave me a sense of rhythm and purpose and curiosity that I had lost.

He had such a sense of self that, at times, it almost felt rude to call him a “pet.” He wasn’t “mine” so much as he was “with me.” A friend, a familiar, an answer. I know many of understand what I’m trying to express, just as I know many of you fell in love with Caesar, too.

I knew better than to expect that we’d have forever but I thought we’d have so much more time together. But then… a normal morning turned into an odd morning and then a blur of trips to the family veterinarian and then the emergency room, back and forth, worry to worry to worry.

When it was time to say goodbye, he was comfortable and haloed with our love. As much as I miss him, I’m glad he’s not hurting anymore.

I wish I had words of comfort or wisdom that I could offer y’all as well as myself. Little feels resonant or helpful at the moment, so I’ll just say: hold onto everything and everyone you love for as long and as tenderly as you can. “Forever” is a lie.