Crossroads

On this day last week, Robert and I buried Albert. I remember how difficult it was to get out of bed that morning knowing it was one of the first things we would need to do. I also remember tears, endless amounts of tears from thinking of the previous night. I cannot believe it has been a week since our dear Albert passed away. Knowing that it has been a week, I find myself at a major crossroads in the grieving process. I can be angry at the universe for allowing that much time to have passed. I can continue in my fog of waiting, hoping, dreaming that this is not real. Or, I can accept the fact that my beloved Alby-Cat is really gone. I have been traversing the first two paths for the past week. They may not seem sane, but they are comfortable. The last path, the right path, is unknown, scary, and sure to be treacherous. By walking down that path, I am sure to face more tears and heartache. That path seems to say that I am turning my back on my precious Albert and all that he was to me and everyone else in this household. I'll be honest: I'm not ready for that path.
I'm not quite ready to let Albert go. That's why I haven't posted about his passing. I have a post started that's all about Albert and all that he meant to us, but I haven't been able to bring myself to finish it. I haven't taken down the Yule stockings yet, because I don't want to take down Albert's and have to decide what to do with it. Should it go back in the storage box with the others, or remain out for some unknown purpose? That's a question I don't how to answer.
I'm not ready to say goodbye. I don't know how to refer to our pets anymore. Before, I would cheekily call them "Benny and the Cats." Now, what? It's just Benny and Jak? That doesn't seem quite right. I don't know how to travel now. Jak is a car crier, but he would be fine in the crate with Albert. If we go out of town and just take Benny, that leaves Jak all alone. He's all alone in the house every time we take Benny for a walk now. He's never been all alone in the house. He's always had Albert. It's not fair that he had his brother and friend taken away from him. It's unbelievable that we lost Albert after only five years.
I keep searching for ways I could have saved him, made things different. I keep hoping that I'll be able to hold him once more, or that I'll come home to find him here just as he should be. I feel angry at myself for letting Albert down. I feel angry at the universe for taking him so young. I feel sad, and I miss my Alby-kit. I avoid looking at the positive side to this situation, because that's a betrayal to him. I hate when I find myself accepting the circumstances; again: betrayal.
Yet, I have come a long way in a week. My every dream is no longer of the nightmare of his passing. My every waking thought is no longer bound up in the thoughts that haunt the previous paragraph. Try as I might avoid them, I do have thoughts of acceptance and the positive side. Sure, I still cry for him everyday, but it's not as frequent. I can walk Benny without worrying too much for Jak being alone. I am able to laugh and play. I am grateful for Robert, Jak, and Benny and all of my family and friends that have been supportive during this time.
Jak seems to be doing ok. He's clingier than usual, but I think that's good for both of us. It allows us to comfort each other. We have been playing a lot. This morning, he went off on his own to sunbathe or look out the window or just nap, like he used to do. It wasn't for as long, maybe just 30 minutes or an hour, but it's a step back to part of his little routine. He still runs excitedly into the bathroom where we were nursing Albert those last couple of days. He often turns around with this look that seems to say, "something's missing from here." He's been a good kitty, and he seems to be adjusting. We are all taking it one day at a time around here and doing the best we can in this situation, and that's really all anyone can ask of us. Little by little, we'll be able to take that third path.