Bear Part 2

I was at a mental high today. My day had been great. Ran ten miles with my dad and some friends, came home, and I was ready to go to work. I felt great. I had not been home ten minutes when I received the news. “We’re going to have to put him down.”

I tried to be numb. I picked up my stuff and began walking towards my room. “You don’t have to hide,” Mom said. “Come here,” she said, holding her arms open.

I am sorry. I don’t do it to hurt you, I don’t do it because I’m embarrassed of my emotions: it’s an instinct. My mind refuses to let others see my pain.

I didn’t hesitate: I needed this. I threw myself into her arms and let it all out. Tears began to flow like water from a faucet. I couldn’t help but sob as I thought about losing my cat. My pet. My best friend.

Our only other option was letting him live in misery. He wouldn’t last much longer, maybe a year or two, maybe a week or two. But it would be painful. His life would be miserable. All he would know is pain. That’s not a life. That’s hell.

I ended up calling out of work. I was not in the place mentally to work.

I cried the whole time I showered. Sat on the floor, held my legs to my chest, leaned against the wall, and let the water pour over me.

It hurts.

I finally got out of the shower and sat on the stairs next to Bear. I stared off into the distance as I pet his head.

Grandma hugged me, my brother hugged me, even my dad hugged me. Everyone knew that Bear meant the world to me. I was wondering when I was gonna start crying while writing this.

I don’t know why he loved me. Since day one, I didn’t leave him alone. He was mine, and I wanted to be his. I picked him up and paraded around the house with him, brought him to bed with me every night, laid my head on his belly every time he was trying to sleep, wrapped him in a blanket and carried him around like a baby… basically tortured the dude. Then, one day, he started following me to bed. He stopped scratching me when I came up to him while he was in his basket and laid my head on his curled up little body. He had accepted me.

He was always there for me.

Whenever I was feeling low, whenever I needed someone to talk to, whenever I needed comfort, he rubbed his head against mine.

My parents couldn’t have made the process better. Everything I wanted to happen and more happened, and I didn't have to ask for a thing. It was just Mom and me, the two who were most attached to Bear, at the vet. I cried the whole way. I gave him one last kiss, told him that I loved him one last time, and I pet him as they gave him his sedative. The next part was the hardest. Bear’s a fighter, and it was obvious. When we felt we had loved him enough, they started the overdose of sedatives. It took four attempts, but he was finally gone. Finally no longer suffering.

The doctors put him in his basket and they brought him out to us. We went home, and I put him into the hole Dad had dug. I put the first bit of dirt on him. Then we all cried and laughed as we reminisced.

We had always joked that he would live forever because of how stubborn he was.

Did he actually love our other deceased cat? Or did he just love beating him up?

Ripping the wings off of a bat and leaving it to slowly suffer in our basement.

Killing the nest of baby moles in our backyard on one of his many adventures.

Tonight marks the first night I am forever without him in bed with me.

No, I’m not okay. And I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do to fix me. I just want to hold him. I just want to hug him.

I want to say, “Let’s go to bed, Bear,” and hear his little bell jingling as he runs towards my room.

I love him more than life, and now he’s gone. I know you can’t hear me, but I miss you, Bear.