There’s the
bit in The Hobbit, that well known romantic chick flick, when Liv Taylor says
to the man in the Timote advert ‘if
this is love, then take it from me.’
Please. Do. Take it from me, because it hurts so much
that I cannot bear it. My heart hearts,
my head hurts, my face hurts, the space in the centre of my chest hurts, and I
just want to go home, climb into bed, pull the covers over my head, and never
leave. Except that this too would be unbearably
painful. I don’t want to go home
again. I don’t want to go into my
bedroom. I don’t want to sit on the
sofa. But I don’t want to be here
either, or be anywhere that isn’t there.
When you
lose someone you love it’s like the whole world shifts on its axis and becomes
this cold, harsh place, where you can never imagine ever being happy , or hope
ever to be happy again. You want the
person back. And you think about them,
over and over again, even though thinking of them is the worst agony you can
imagine. You think of their dear little
face and you see them, everywhere they used to be that they’re not, and it’s
torture.
And it’s no
easier when it’s not a person, but a little cat. A little cat that follows you everywhere, and
comes when he’s called, who sits on lap and snuggles against you, and lays his
head on your knee, who talks to you when you see him in the morning, and sits
staring at you when it’s 9pm because it’s time for his treat. My Bean, was like my baby. I loved him so much that it seems ridiculous
because he was a cat, but his sweet little pussy-cat face, and the golden eyes,
and the way he crossed his paws when he slept, everything just filled me with
pleasure and joy. Just watching him
sleep made me happy. He was so calm, so
perfectly relaxed that you couldn’t but feel happy and at peace watching him. He was my shadow at home, my constant
companion, my boy. I don’t know what I
will do without him. Or rather, I
do. I will hurt. So much that I wish I could do anything not
to feel it.
