Good Grief!

(Or, why my cat’s passing was 1.9 times worse than my Dad’s.)

Yesterday, the Wife and I took the remains of our cat Brooklyn to the Vet’s Office to be cremated. On Monday of last week, Wendi noticed one of her pupils was dilated and we took her to the vet that evening. After many more visits, we learned Brooklyn had both cancer and a blockage in her gut. It was just a matter of time. Many tears were shed as she, our son Xander, and I decided it was best to put her down* on Friday. Wendi got to wait with Brooklyn in her car for a good long while, waiting for the appointment, petting her cat, who still enjoyed the pampering.

(*God, I hate phrase. And every other similar euphemism.)

When I got home from work that evening, I made it just inside the door, dropping my work bag before Wendi rushed to me, both of us falling into each other’s arms and we stood there crying.

The next morning, she and I put our cat’s remains into a large box and went back to the vet to have her remains seen to. As was and is so often the case, one of us (W) was the functioning adult, talking care of business while the other (B) could only just barely keep it together. We’ve been tag-teaming like that since we learned the Bad News.

We said our final goodbyes and left. Out in the parking lot, a minivan parked next to our car had its passenger door open so I had to walk around the car to get to the driver’s side. Speaking a fully formed sentence was beyond my capacity at that point.

As I walked around the back of our car, the (Hispanic?) gentleman, the owner of the minivan, said to me, “I’m so sorry.” Then he patted my shoulder, and again said, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Not really thinking clearly right then, I mumbled a thank you and was honestly thinking he was apologizing for the Door Incident. “Geez, not a big deal, dude.”

It wasn’t until I was in the car, buckled up, that it dawned on me. “Oh, THAT was one human showing empathy for another, a stranger even.”

This maybe 10 second interaction stayed with me all day. I mention the man’s ethnicity because we in the Waspy Brotherhood have been taught that human contact is something to be…at least cautious about. I strongly suspect that other cultures don’t have such hang ups. And they are better for it. Better human beings for it.

Since getting home yesterday, the two of us have continued to keep Klenix at hand. Much blowing of the nose; many dabbings of the eyes. Feeding Tanith her late night treat just gutted me when I remembered that I used to hide kibbles in both cubbies for them both to find. Both cubbies; both cats.

Since an occupied mind is less likely to dwell on painful things, I started wondering why THIS particular death in the family was and continues to be so gut wrenching for me and the Mrs.

Roughly two years back, my Dad died after a long bout of leukemia. He got a lot of living in from diagnosis to death; much time spent with his boys and his grandkids. When the end neared and he needed round the clock care, Dad’s one wish was to die at home. For his last month or so, the four of us took three day shifts; giving Dad’s SO Annie, a much needed respite. During my shifts, I got a really close look at how a body slowly shuts down. I wasn’t there when he passed. Eldest Brother Jeff and Annie were. I’d been expecting “The Call” for weeks and upon getting it, I went and had a good cry with Wendi. And then had a good cry with Xander.

But….that was it. I was sad. Dazed. I loved my Dad and was sorry to see him go but…

We moved on.

There was stuff to do: people to inform, an obituary to write, personal effects to distribute, a wake to organize and, (because my Dad clearly hated me), executor duties to start. (Just kidding.) The mechanics of dealing with a death just propelled me forward.

And now, this little Felis catus, picked up from the Humane Society just seven years ago, who always seemed to prefer Xander or Wendi, ups and gets herself cancer; going from (seemingly) perfect health to death in under two weeks. WHY is this grief so much harder? I’d prefer to avoid the “Brian’s a sociopath.” explanation. As mentioned above, really loved the old man. He was a great Dad and it would have been great had he made it another decade or so. So, what’s the deal?

So I have put my little gray cells to work. My hypothesis is that grief, like humor, can be analyzed but is destroyed it in the process. I’ll take as logical view of my emotions as humanly possible. ‘Cause thinking about my sorrow is NOT the same as actually feeling it.

Least, that’s my hope ‘cause my eyes are just feeling worn out.

So, without ado(?), adieu(?) With an end of the prevaricating, I present:

The Brooklyn/Hardy Grief Criteria Survey Indicator Scale.

(Patent/Trademark/Copyright pending)

On this test thingee, I will rate my sorrow based upon five differently scientifically chosen criteria (listed below).

The scale will go from 1 (Yeah, I guess it’s a bummer.) to 5 (Snot bubbles. Repeated and Unwiped Snot Bubbles.) The scores will not be compared against each other but each is an independent rating.

One last author’s note for the painfully nuance-impaired out there. I not (NOT!) comparing my Dad to a cat.

What I am comparing are MY reactions to each of their passings and what things might have exacerbated or mitigated those reactions. Okay? Not a cat. We all clear here? Okay, let us proceed.

1) Importance in My Life.

Dad: 4 Brooklyn: 1

For our first criterion, I am looking how subjects A and B influenced me; made me the person I am today. Dad wasn’t around for a large chunk of my life (not by his choice) and we didn’t hang out tons as adult but he was still, you know, my Dad. So a 4 out of 5 score. Brooklyn? Well, she was a cat. Beside peeing all over my favorite chair and thus, making me a bit more grumpy, she had very little impact on me as a person.

2) Lifespan.

Dad: 2 Brooklyn: 4

Dad died in his mid-70s. Brooklyn died in her mid-7s. So, Dad didn’t have a great run but he got to see his grandkids grow up. Not bad. Brooklyn wasn’t struck down as kitten but she wasn’t even at the average halfway point for a well cared for indoor cat.

3) Adjustment time.

Dad: 1 Brooklyn: 5

By adjustment time, I mean how long did I have to come to grips with the impending death. With Dad, we had two years to laugh and cry. The Hardy Family saw more of each other in those two years than in the previous decade (at least). We all knew each holiday could very well be our last and so, despite Covid, we boys did our best to spend them with Dad and Annie.

Two weeks back, Brooklyn was fine. At least, she was to our minds. And now she’s gone. It’s not like we would have taken her on a trip to see the family or anything had we had two months instead of two weeks but it just felt very abrupt.

4) Passing

Dad: 2 Brooklyn: 4

Dad was ready to go. He was miserable; the disease had robbed him of so much and it was hard to witness. But, he mostly faced it with a sense of humor and care for those caring for him. Dad had spent the previous year simplifying his life; both for his sake and that of his heirs. His affairs were in order.

Dad died at home, with his love Annie and son Jeff, by his side on a beautiful summer day. It was a Good Death for both him and the loved one left behind.

Brooklyn. Not so much. Obviously, she had no affairs to put in order. No, what made her actual passing away so difficult is that WE had to make that choice. By Friday morning, she wasn’t eating nor pooping but she still getting around: still showed interest in having her ears scratched and the YouTube bird channels.

But we knew.

We knew that each day would bring more pain. And delaying a day or two simply to avoid saying goodbye was selfishness. So, having to make that choice, even if it was the right one, was very difficult. Our own hellish version of the Trolley Problem.

5) Reminders

Dad: 1 Brooklyn: 5

This may seem….dismissive but there isn’t really anything in our home that screams “Dad!”. We have family photos on the wall but they’ve been here for decades. Same with the deck out back he and I built years ago. We didn’t decorate this house with his comfort and safety in mind. It would be kind of weird if we had.

Not so with our cats. Wendi’s been a stay at home mom for roughly the same amount of time we’ve had Brooklyn and Tanith. She’s had plenty of time to fashion this house to a cat’s taste. Everywhere you look, you see cat towers, scratching posts, more towers, litter boxes, etc. You walk past our front door and you immediately see that this is a Home for Well-Love Felines. And, secondarily, they’re human companions. Where ever Wendi and I turn, there is something Brooklyn loved to sleep in, climb, scratch, and/or pee on. (Often, all in one piece of furniture.) And each item we see pulls that bandaid off again.

So, based on those 5 Standards, we have a final score of:

Dad: 10 Brooklyn: 19

Scientific proof that, under the right (or rather: wrong) circumstances, losing a four-legged family member can be more traumatic than losing a two legged one. One point nine times worst in fact.

Okay, this has been productive but I have a cat and a wife; one of which could probably use a belly rub and other a hug and kiss. I’ll leave it to you to figure out which is which.

Sighing off.

Dr. Hardy P.hD