Today the tears are flowing for me again. I am just getting to read all the messages my friends and family have sent since Mágico’s transition. As I read the condolences and love coming in, the tear flood gates are open. It feels like there is an ocean behind my eyes.
Will it stop, I wonder.
Jon and I have been in Florida visiting Jon’s dad, Mike, and his wife Sherri for the last few days. Jon’s family and mother Ocean really took care of us while there. It makes me think of the times we took Mágico to the ocean when we lived in Mexico.
Like most cats, he wasn’t the biggest fan of the water. It appeared that the ocean was too much water and noise for his liking. He didn’t even like to look at it. At the beach he always curled up inside of one of our shirts, ponchos or scarves. We would sit for a few hours in the sand and he really wouldn’t come out. He stayed comfortably snuggled where ever he was, hiding in our clothing. We loved it. He would snuggle his little body next to ours and lay down. It felt like we were a safe place for him. This burrowing in our clothes became a regular occurrence whenever he was looking for parental comfort.
In the early days of our time together, our boy went everywhere with us. He didn’t like to be left at home. He wanted to be part of the activity, and see all of our friends. We also wanted to take him everywhere because we are such travelers.
Jon and I said to each other, “Let’s train him young and get him used to the car, restaurants, the farmers market, everywhere.” We needed a companion who could navigate travel with us and keep up with our lifestyle. And Mágico was willingly enrolled in (most of) our adventures. He would perk up when we would say, “Are you ready to go on an adventure, buddy? Quieres venir, mi amor?”
He really was a cat of all time. A different kind of cat who wanted to be with us all the time. He was usually as close as possible. He would trail at our ankles and follow us into every room. It was so sweet. He was our little travel cat. Our adventure boy. He was always right there.
A few days before he died, he curled up inside my scarf, as he always did, as if hiding from the world. His interest in adventures had significantly decreased in the last few months of his life but his desire for closeness remained. And we still feel that closeness now.
As an offering to our Baja boy, we brought some of his dried cat nip with us to give to the Florida ocean. We felt his presence every second while there. He was reminding us to stay present. Daily, we wore the scarves and ponchos he loved to snuggle in.
This trip to the ocean has felt like a helpful part in the grieving process. The pattern disruption of time in nature with family has given us important moments to immerse ourselves in so we can carry on.
Oh, and the tears have stopped for now! 🙏
More tomorrow…
Share this post