My sweet baby girl Thelma,
It's been four days now since you left this plane for your next adventure. Whenever I miss you and feel your absence I try so hard to close my eyes and imagine where you are now. All I can see is an endless row of windowsills, overlooking a sunny yard with tons of birds and squirrels and people walking by. You loved to look out the window so much. The blinds in the bedroom still have a tear where you would push aside the blinds if I slept too long so you could start your morning seeing what's going on. I will never replace those blinds. You always needed to see what was happening; it was the most cat thing about you.
This morning when I turned on the faucet in the bath I had such a clear memory of you coming in the bathroom and peering over the bathtub to watch the water fill up, it was almost like you were right there with me. It was the first time I could smile about you without the sadness overtaking me. It is still there, Thelma girl, that sadness I carry with me since you left for the bridge. I know it always will be. Over those last few days I've had the W.S. Merwin poem run through my head over and over again:
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
And it's true, Thelma girl. I walk around and do my everyday things and there you are in all of it. Your sweet face and pink nose, your baby meow and your loud, loud purr. You were in my life for six, almost seven years but you will be with me for the rest of my life, however long that is and I know I will see you again. It is only a matter of time. Until then, I carry you with me. Always, always, always.