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Still not exactly dealing well with Albert's death. I keep looking at where his cage was and wanting to cry. Or actually crying. I miss his singing, I miss the way we'd play the bobby-head game and I'd try to get him to imitate chocobo calls, I miss the way he had this stupid ear-piercing tweet that meant, "You're not awake but it's daylight YOU SHOULD WAKE UP NOW!" I miss the way he used to run laps all around the bottom of his cage, and the way he absolutely hated mineral blocks but couldn't get enough of cuttlebones.
I got his ashes back today, from Angel's Haven Pet Cremation. Who are wonderful people, by the way, and I can't recommend them enough. When I tried to find out where they were (they're out of town, and I'd have to walk about an hour and a half to get to them, but I was willing to do it), they sent a guy to pick Albert up instead, hearing that I don't have a car. The guy was a bit pushy trying to sell the handmade urns they also sell for ashes, but I think he understood that the reason I didn't get one was because I couldn't afford it, because when he brought Albert's ashes home today, he handed over an urn that he and his wife picked out, free of charge, because the colours in the urn matched the colour of Albert's feathers, and I just had to take a few minutes to stop sobbing after typing that because I miss him.
Yeah, I am not dealing with this well. He'd been in my life for almost 10 years, and I've gotten so used to him being around that things just feel wrong now. Even when I was in a part of the house where I wouldn't be able to hear him, even when he was asleep and not singing, I'd still know he was there. And now I know he's not anymore, and I remember finding him and holding his tiny little body and knowing that even though he was gone then, I was going to have to say goodbye again when I handed him over to the guy to be cremated, then again when I got the ashes back, and it seems like I've been saying goodbye constantly since he died.
Before that, even. When I thought he might be sick or hurt and I hoped that it wasn't anything serious and that he'd be okay, but I had this sinking feeling that I wanted to deny, and I told him that if he needed to, he could go, he didn't need to stay if he was ready to move on. And he didn't understand me; he was a bird, his primary concerns were seeds and sleep, but I said it, and I needed to say it to make me feel better, but I started saying goodbye at that moment and I feel like I haven't stopped since.
I haven't grieved for a pet in years. I haven't missed it. And he was old, too; I knew the end had to be coming within a year or two. But you're never ready, not really. More ready than you could be, but you're never ready to have it happen, because until it happens it's not final, and that little painful hopeful part of yourself keeps hoping for that miracle that will mean it doesn't have to happen at all.
I've been in a state of 'existing' over the weekend. I've eaten little but junk food, because I just can't be bothered to care to properly take care of myself. I slept too much. I made myself shower. To do laundry.
I'm making a chili in the slow cooker right now. I'm going to spend some time playing video games tonight, to distract myself and to do something enjoyable. To go through the routines of life even when they're hard and I just want to go numb and not care. I know the grief will fade over time. I know I can work through it. It's just that right now things are so new, so raw, that it hurts to breathe because at any moment I could think about how I'll never get a chance to hear him sing again and I want to bawl my eyes out.
I've cried enough for now. I need to go do something else to distract me from it all for a little while.
I got his ashes back today, from Angel's Haven Pet Cremation. Who are wonderful people, by the way, and I can't recommend them enough. When I tried to find out where they were (they're out of town, and I'd have to walk about an hour and a half to get to them, but I was willing to do it), they sent a guy to pick Albert up instead, hearing that I don't have a car. The guy was a bit pushy trying to sell the handmade urns they also sell for ashes, but I think he understood that the reason I didn't get one was because I couldn't afford it, because when he brought Albert's ashes home today, he handed over an urn that he and his wife picked out, free of charge, because the colours in the urn matched the colour of Albert's feathers, and I just had to take a few minutes to stop sobbing after typing that because I miss him.
Yeah, I am not dealing with this well. He'd been in my life for almost 10 years, and I've gotten so used to him being around that things just feel wrong now. Even when I was in a part of the house where I wouldn't be able to hear him, even when he was asleep and not singing, I'd still know he was there. And now I know he's not anymore, and I remember finding him and holding his tiny little body and knowing that even though he was gone then, I was going to have to say goodbye again when I handed him over to the guy to be cremated, then again when I got the ashes back, and it seems like I've been saying goodbye constantly since he died.
Before that, even. When I thought he might be sick or hurt and I hoped that it wasn't anything serious and that he'd be okay, but I had this sinking feeling that I wanted to deny, and I told him that if he needed to, he could go, he didn't need to stay if he was ready to move on. And he didn't understand me; he was a bird, his primary concerns were seeds and sleep, but I said it, and I needed to say it to make me feel better, but I started saying goodbye at that moment and I feel like I haven't stopped since.
I haven't grieved for a pet in years. I haven't missed it. And he was old, too; I knew the end had to be coming within a year or two. But you're never ready, not really. More ready than you could be, but you're never ready to have it happen, because until it happens it's not final, and that little painful hopeful part of yourself keeps hoping for that miracle that will mean it doesn't have to happen at all.
I've been in a state of 'existing' over the weekend. I've eaten little but junk food, because I just can't be bothered to care to properly take care of myself. I slept too much. I made myself shower. To do laundry.
I'm making a chili in the slow cooker right now. I'm going to spend some time playing video games tonight, to distract myself and to do something enjoyable. To go through the routines of life even when they're hard and I just want to go numb and not care. I know the grief will fade over time. I know I can work through it. It's just that right now things are so new, so raw, that it hurts to breathe because at any moment I could think about how I'll never get a chance to hear him sing again and I want to bawl my eyes out.
I've cried enough for now. I need to go do something else to distract me from it all for a little while.
