Freia

Freia is vanmorgen overleden.

Ze was de liefde van mijn leven.

Het is goed zo. Het was haar tijd. Maar zoals iemand anders over haar kat schreef:

"I still have peace. But peace doesn't have a cold nose, a pink tongue, whiskers or a warm purr. Peace does not use the litter box, hurl hairballs or wake me at two in the morning because it got lonely and wanted to crawl under the covers. The sure knowledge that I did the best I could does not demand fresh running water in the bathtub, lose its toys under the living room couch or chase moths. And even that wonderful sense of love I knew after my kitty-cat crossed, does not meow when I come home late or interrupt me at the computer with a warm paw on my leg, asking for a lap and a cuddle. And though a fresh new set of paws will one day walk into my heart, the here-and-now, day-to-day presence of a creature who knew me better than I know myself, loved me better than I love myself (and let me know that on a regular basis, conceited little creature that he was), is gone. Peace is a wonderful thing, but it doesn't wear fur.

And when I miss that fur so much, when the grief swells and threatens to consume me, the memory of my bond with my fur-person grounds me. It tells me to look forward and celebrate the joy that bounded into my life so many years ago. To pause and ground myself, let the love that was there surface and know that the love is still there. It's lonelier on this side, but if I ride out the grief I come full circle back to peace. It doesn't wear fur and it doesn't stop tears, but it does bring the memory of love and changes the tears from those of desperate sorrow to those of healing and hope"

www.felinecrf.org/saying_goodbye.htm.