Remmi, Dying Beloved

I KNEW FULL WELL before I took her to the vet that the diagnoses and prognosis would most likely not be good, but found it easy to deceive myself into thinking otherwise. As Goethe said, as I have often quoted: "We are never deceived. We only deceive ourselves". She had been an outdoor cat cat her entire seven year life, born to a stray mother that I took in and began feeding only to find out that she had a four kitten litter, almost like a new girlfriend who, after several dats, introduces you to her children. The mother has been gone for about two years, stuck and killed by a careless and probably uncaring driver. So Remmi was probably seven-ish, a middle adult of a cat. I now comfort myself many humans and many cats are not privileged to reach middle age, for reasons which only the dear lord knows. I tend to be unrealistically optomistic,a nd I wouldn't have it any other way.I could see myslef going back to the vet in a few days, picking her up, and the both of us purring our way home to a snack and a snuggle. The lord had other plans. The remains of two of my beloved cats are cremains in a place of honor on my fireplace mantle, others are buried in my yard, in a pleasant green space aurrouned by plants and green grass, and I am content with that arrangement, as I trust they are. We shall always be close to each other. The next project is to return to the vet, pay up, and take the cremain urn back to the house, to be placed next to the remains of Jake and Shylow, my two baby boys who died several years ago. As teh years go by, the details will become blurred, and indeed alreday have. Neither Jake nor Shylow's lovely wooden cremain box has birth and death dates, but only their namess. I suppose that's enough; they are ensconced in lovely, dignified repose. aybe someday I'll bury their boxes, beautiful wood that they are. Maybe I'll scatter everybody's ashes around the yard of the only home they ever knew. I hve experiencein this. My father died at 68 in 1986, and for me there wa never any question where his cremains would ultimately abide. I kept them with me for several years, then realized that I needed to set them frre, in a place where they belonged. That place was on the beautifully manicured lawn of the law school complex at teh university where he attended law school, a place he always said was hie favorite lace in teh world, where he loved his studies and loved his surroundings. It comforts me to think that my beloved father has now long since blended into and become part of the essence of the God's green Earth upon which his beloved law schhol building sits. We can never do any better than our very best. We honor our beloved deceased in the best ways we know how. Who can fail to be deeply moved by the sight of a slain American service member being returned to his or her home soil, their cherished America, and transferred from airplane to tarmac to loving family with loving, respectful dignity. I wish everyone who grieves the loss of a loved one could embrace the immortal words of Goethe, who said: "We are indeed immortal, made so by the effects of our actions". No interpretation could be more profound, or true. What we leave on this Earth is the effects of our actions, of our presence among our fellow living beings. Remmi is not truly dead, nor shall she or we ever be. She never will be, for she will forever live within my heart and soul, just as I trust I will similarly someday soon, within that of others. I left Remmi at the vet for treatment, and she died there, knowing that she was loved. This knowledge is all that anyone could ever expect or want.