Gratitude for ChaHAhange

ChaHAhange is not always easy.  Sometimes it comes with heartbreak and tears.  This week, my LittleMan, Zeko Meow, passed away.   We adopted him 15 years ago at the Humane Society when he weighed less than one pound.  

My littleMan was a lover who let himself be held and stroked.  He would purr loud and proud as he rested his little body on yours.  He loved to walk over to the neighbors and keep an eye on the hood. His sleek skinny body and beautiful face was a familiar sight on both sides of our street.

He would serenade me in the early hours of the morning to let him into the house and feed him.  He and GingerMama were close - often sharing the couch facing the kitchen as Loverboy and I would uncook and create recipes.

This feline Zen Master taught me how to meditate and stay still.   He would sit in my lap for hours as we chilled - learning the Art of Doing NoThing while being aware and present.

Last month his body began to show signs of the wear and tear that comes with aging.  He spent 5 days under the loving supervision of Dr. Darko and came home to surrender to the process.  

A few days ago, he lost interest in his food and water.   He let me brush him and massage him and then he wandered off.   Yesterday there was no meow at my door - no furry face meowing a familiar tune.    We found him in a safe space where he could see our front door as he left his earthly body.

I've been feeling a little sad even though I know my Zeko is free and all around me.   Every time a memory wells up in my head, I feel like a little part of my heart is tearing off and it brings tears to my eyes.

I've been in this space of loss and grief before - with no energy to laugh or smile - no oomph to make an effort or try to be haHAhappy.   And yet, I know,  my LittleMan would want me to be in the MOMent - with my Elly Belly Meow and our dog-God, GingerMama.

I start humming laughter, a peaceful practice of purring from the inside out.  With my lips sealed, I start to make a sound in my throat.  I keep at it and now this vibration fills me from head to toe. I feel it warming me up and reminding me the importance of sound expression to release the stress and tension of sadness.

I keep on humming until I feel my mood shift.  I focus on gratitude - gratitude for our 15 years together - gratitude for Zeko's existence in my life and knowing this LittleMan.  

Zeko - I am so grateful that you blessed our house with your presence and essence.  I am so grateful for all these wonderful memories I have of you with my nieces and nephews and every single child in this neighborhood.  I am so grateful for sitting outside in the grass with you and GingerMama while we talked to the trees.

I am so grateful for all the nights you snuggled by my left hip and let me wake up to you in my arms.   I am so grateful for our meditations and our purrs and our catnip romps.   I am so grateful that you are no longer in pain and are free.  I am so grateful for you my little Kooshkoosh.   May you rest in peace Zeko.  We love you.