Gone But Not Forgotten

I do a beginning of the year slideshow each year to introduce myself and my rules to my students. 

 

I tell about my family, my hobbies, and my summer and I answer questions as they arise. 

 

Ever since starting this tradition a few years ago, I have introduced Annie as my cat. 

 

The kids have always ooohed and ahed at her beauty and then they proceeded to tell me about their pets. Inevitably, someone says that they used to have a pet but that something happened to it, and then that starts the stories of pets dying. And then someone usually gets sad. And ever so often, someone bursts into tears.

 

So I had a dilemma on Friday when I opened my slideshow for its annual update. 

 

Did I leave Annie’s picture and count her as my pet or did I delete Annie’s picture because of her unexpected passing on Thursday?

 

I didn’t want to erase her, but I also didn’t want to feel a stab of pain looking at her and knowing that she wasn’t here.

 

And I certainly didn’t want to intentionally explain that she got sick and that I had to put her down because of the aforementioned stories and tears.  

 

In the end, I took out her picture and simply said that I have one cat, Siggy Ray. 

 

I’ve had some of my students since kindergarten, so if they’ve paid attention over the past many years, then they should know that Annie is missing. 

 

So I’m prepared to be asked about her. I’m prepared to explain that she got sick and died. I’m prepared to accept that there may be a catch in my voice and that I may have to take a moment to pull myself together. And I’m prepared to put the car backs on the track after they derail!

 

But that doesn’t mean that it’s going to be easy.

 

I’m going to see the slide five times a day for five days and be reminded that she’s not with me anymore.

 

And I’m going to miss her even more in those moments than I do now. 

 

Grief demands that it be felt, but grief challenges us to keep going.

 

So I will keep going.

 

Moving forward does not mean erasing a life.

 

Moving forward means taking the memories of what was and carrying their good parts into what will be.

 

And so that’s what I will do.

 

I will frame Annie’s paw print and picture and I will remember. 

 

She was not a perfect cat. But because she was Annie Mae. She was my cat. And I loved her. And love doesn’t die as easily as taking down a picture from a slideshow. 

 

Remember: 

Love and goodness live on. 

Seen and unseen. 

No matter what your grief today. 

 

Amen.