When my first child was born, I experienced a tidal wave of emotions. As I embraced my infant overjoyed, I whispered in her tiny ear her that I’d always protect her. I even briefly visualized those moments in her future where she may need me the most: her first fall from her bike; her first time being confronted by mean kids at school; and her first break up. Never could I foresee the grief she’d experience-along with her younger siblings-after the death of a pet.
Last week our family cat passed away. Although they knew Kora was sick and saw her growing frailer each day, I wasn’t able to prepare any of my children for this heartache. They even accompanied me on a recent trip to the vet and watched as I crushed pills daily to mix into the small bits of food she consumed. They understood she wasn’t doing well, as they helped with feedings and softly stroked her fur.
To make matters more difficult, their father and I were away when she passed. We had a babysitter and their grandfather at home with them, but nobody can replace mom and dad during such a time. Miserably, my oldest child watched our cat die without us. Between texts and phone calls, we tried to hatch a plan for her to go to emergency care. Nonetheless, Kora took her last breath, choosing to die in the bed she slept in nightly. So there it is: A parenting fail of epic proportions. I try not to keep tally of them, but this one weighs heavily on me.
This series of unfortunate events did teach me one thing. Parents can’t protect a child from the grieving process. I had safeguarded my children from scenes that could be described as, in the simplest of terms, “disturbing.” Tragic news stories, violent movies and funeral viewings are pretty much at the top of my list of those things I prefer my children not to see. Despite these previous attempts at keeping the bad thoughts out of their heads, I couldn’t shield this. It was scary for my daughter, who just turned 10 and saw the very end of her cat’s life. She was almost too young to understand that fragile divide between life and death. The only consolation I could give her was on the phone when I told her how brave she was. I thanked her for being with Kora, the cat I had adopted as a young, single lady living in Philadelphia. She was sobbing, and her dad and I were more than two hours away. I felt helpless but grateful my younger two children were already asleep.
We headed home to our sleeping children, knowing they’d awake to the most trying time they’d have up to this point in their young lives. We still had that chance to be their protectors, the people who help them make sense of sorrowful situations.
The next morning, when my younger daughter awoke and asked why we were home early, I had to deliver the awful news. In almost a state of suspicion and half understanding, she began crying immediately. My 5-year-old son’s reaction was also one of disbelief, taking him nearly a half hour to start crying. When he did, he screamed relentlessly for Kora by her name. All I could do was hold him tightly and stroke his hair. They then begged us to see the cat, but we did not oblige their request. We had another chance to protect them. I wanted them to have the memory of a happy cat lying on the bed, staring at us with her deep green eyes.
We performed a sweet ceremony to wish our faithful friend good bye. My husband dug a deep hole in our backyard, not far from the swing set where my children have spent so many happy moments. Almost instinctively, they ran through the backyard to pick flowers and place them on the box that was Kora’s kitty coffin. The kids even decorated a stepping stone to place on her grave.
As parents, it’s tricky to forecast – or protect our children – from those events that may cause them sadness. I never imagined that one, diminutive cat could have such a lasting and colossal impact on my children.
Julia Sherwin is the host of “Perspectives on Parenting with Julia Sherwin,” which airs on Mondays at 1 p.m. on WCHE 1520 a.m. You can send her your parenting questions at parentingwithjuliasherwin@gmail.com, or connect with her on Facebook or on Twitter.
