Old Hurts

Over the weekend, I ran into someone I've not seen in some time, and who I'm not friends with on Facebook. The first words out of his mouth, after "omg, I haven't seen you in forever!" were "How's Bean?"

I love Lizzie B. I do. 

But could not have predicted how painful it would be to hear -- and to have to answer -- that question.

Maybe it's because Bean was only a month old when I got her. Maybe it is because she was such a tremendous doofus her entire life. Maybe it's because I went through so much with her by my side. Whatever the reason, she was my girl in a way that Lizzie is not, possibly (probably) because Lizzie doesn't need me the way Bean did.

I know I did my best by my girl, but I feel like I let her down. Which, of course, resulted in bursting into tears in a public place after an inquiry by a well-meaning person who had no idea that he was ripping a scab off a barely healed wound. And -- because I'm so aware of my mental health these days -- as I was crying, I was also wondering if this was a sign that I needed my meds adjusted.

After reflection, I think -- no. I think that the reality is this: as stupid as some people think it is? I loved that damn cat, and because my summer was so fucked up, I didn't get to say good-bye or mourn properly. I can't change that. But I CAN, and will, give myself permission to grieve when/if I have to.

Even if it makes me feel a little stupid.

Because this one? Was worth it.