Day One

I am exhausted, which isn't surprising.  Even after Hubby and I went to bed last night, we stayed up talking, finally able to talk and express what we were each going through.

Hubby confessed that he was very concerned about something.  He didn't think Large Fry had cried at all since we broke the news to the kids that Popoki had died.  It worried him.  He wasn't sure what she felt, and the Worry Gremlins were out in force over what Large's lack of reaction could mean.

I figured she was just still processing things in her own mind, and the grief would come later.

I should give myself a gold star.

Since Large seemed to be handling the news well enough, the plan was for her to go to school today as usual.

As we left the house to walk across the street to the school, Large said, "I want to go see Popo."

"Okay," I said.

Sad.

She skipped across the yard to the corner where we buried Po yesterday. She stood there quietly for about a minute, and I waited on the patio for her to come back.  Her return wasn't as cheery as her journey out, and I just knew.  Even her walk was somber.

I held out an arm as Large approached me.  "Are you okay?"

Large shook her head...and the grief seemed to hit like a freight train.  She sobbed.  I wrapped my arms around her and just held on.

After a minute, Large stepped back and took my hand, and we started walking to school.  She cried the whole way there.  I stopped on the steps by the side entrance to the school and sat down with her.  "Do you want to go to school today?"

Large shook her head.  I hugged her close, and said that it was okay; she didn't have to go to school.  The school counselor was standing out at the curb with another teacher, meeting the students getting off the buses, and I walked over to her.  I explained that I was taking Large Fry home, that she had finally processed yesterday's events enough that the grief had finally made an appearance.  She nodded in understanding and said she would tell Large Fry's teacher.

We walked home, and I put her lunch in the fridge while she hung up her coat and backpack and took off her shoes.

Then I ushered her upstairs to Hubby.

He sat up in bed as we walked in, Large Fry still sobbing.  "What's wrong?"

"Guess whose grief hit today."

Hubby reached for Large, bringing her up on the bed and holding her close.

She whimpered Po's name and cried some more.  Hubby just hugged her more.

And the words finally tumbled out.  "I loved her so much!"

I thought my heart would break into smithereens.

The twins soon joined us, wanting to know what was wrong with their big sister.  They clambered up on the bed with us.

As Large Fry's tears subsided under Hubby's loving attention, he started to talk about some of our favorite memories of Po...

...like when she used to play fetch with crumpled up paper balls as a kitten.

...like being scared of Keiki, when we first brought a very tiny Ke home.

...like the time we took a trip to Hubby's parents' home, and brought Po with us, and she yowled in the carrier until we let her out (such bad cat parents, I know), and she wasn't content to rest on a pillow on my lap; she had to settle in on Hubby's shoulder, while he drove with his arm out straight and hand on top of the wheel, where she proceeded to take a 45-minute nap.

Medium talked about how much she loved Po, petting her and hugging her and kissing her.

Large tearfully recalled how much she loved it when Po would get decorated...with tiaras, with beads, with Duckie.

There have been tears this morning.  There have been smiles.  We've talked about how it hurts, and it's okay to be sad.

I went through my picture files and copied all the ones of Po into a special folder, so I can make a collage to have framed.  Large wanted to see certain pictures of herself with Po as I worked.

Then we went through the pictures I took yesterday afternoon.  She cried quietly as we looked at them.  "Are you sure you want to see these?" I asked her.  She nodded.  We looked through them, and then, as I prepared to write this post, she wanted to know if she could draw a picture in the white field.

I said no; I couldn't make it draw pictures there.  But she could draw a picture, and I would take a photo of it, and post it for her.  She liked that idea.

I miss my kitty.

I hurt, for myself and for my kids.