Today, a lovely lady wrote to me. Ten years ago, when my mother passed away, she took my mother's cat into her home.
Mici and she moved everywhere together. Whenever I thought of her, I never wondered how she might be doing, because I knew she wanted for nothing. She was surrounded by an abundance of care and love.
Today, Mici said goodbye. She was 18 years old.
And today, in the midst of her own grief, the woman who had become Mici's chosen mum thought of me.
After all these years, she wrote to me because she wanted to thank me for the fact that Mici had been able to live with her. She was grateful that, when they first saw each other at my mother's home all those years ago, their life together began.
I have been thinking about this ever since.
What kind of love is it that can still feel gratitude in the very moment of loss?
When you are saying goodbye to someone you love, and in the middle of your pain, another person comes to mind – someone you haven't spoken to in years. And you reach out simply to say:
Thank you for our meeting, and for making it possible for Mici to come into my life.
We want to believe in the world. We want to believe in people. In goodness.
And then something happens that proves there is still so much worth believing in. A person who, even after all these years, feels it is important to write: Thank you for letting her live with me.
And when a little cat says goodbye, we travel through 18 years of time with her. Her quiet presence becomes a rainbow bridge connecting the past, the present and the paths of different lives.
She took us back to those who were still here then. To old homes. To our former selves.
Back to a day when my mother was still alive. When Mici was with her. When the two of them first saw each other, and nobody yet knew that this encounter would grow into a life shared together.
18 years.
Moving homes, old friendships, farewells, everyday moments.
And then comes the day when love also means making a difficult decision to ease the other's departure, even when your own heart is breaking.
(Thank you for finding the strength and courage to do that.)
Perhaps gratitude begins right there, when even in the pain of loss, we understand that we haven't only lost someone. Before that, life had given us the gift of having them.
Today, an 18-year-old little cat has passed away.
And after so many years of silence and distance, it was the farewell to a snow-white cat that reminded me once again that love does not end when someone leaves. It remains with us, always.
Farewell, Mici, you beautiful little girl!
Between Heaven and Earth,
Dajbukát Ildikó
