Growth brings pain and joy

Grief is an interesting thing. It's such a part of life, we begin experiencing it as young children and will continue for the rest of our lives.

I was talking with my friend, Rachel, today. (Click on the title of this Post to link to her Blog.) Her precious little puppy, Hilde, was hit by a car a week ago and they lost her. She was talking about how much simpler Monday mornings are now without Hilde. Although she's grieving terribly for the loss of this sweet little pet, getting her sons dressed, fed, lunches made, and everyone out the door to school is simpler without having to take Hilde out for her morning constitutional and watching to be sure there are no doggy accidents on the jute rug. (I've been reading your blog, Rach.)

While we were talking, I began thinking about my beloved Frolic. Frolic was my cat. He was from a litter that my sister's cat bore, and I got him right after he was weened. He was so small, he could stand in the palm of my hand. His favorite place was on my shoulder where he could talk directly in my ear. There he felt the most secure. He knew I would protect him and my love for him was unconditional.

Once, while he was still small, we were visiting the vet. I put Frolic on the stainless steel table. I was behind Frolic and the vet stood across from me on the other side of the table. He examined Frolic, who whimpered pitifully. After the exam, the vet was talking with me about my little pet when Frolic began backing up on the table. He knew I was behind him, so he backed right into me. Then, with his rear pressing against me, knowing I was there to protect him, he began snarling at the vet. We both cracked up. Oh, yeah, he was real brave - as long as Mommy was pressed up against him.

Frolic grew into a 20-lb. tiger of a cat. He was a silver tabby but had a lot of siamese blood in him and was very fiesty. We called him my watch-cat. I had no need for a dog. Frolic took care of the house and his mommy just fine.

When Don and I started courting, Frolic would jump up on the back of the couch, crawl along it until he was between us, and then try and force Don away from me. It was obvious he was very jealous. This jealousy concerned me when I brought me new baby, Deanna, home from the hospital. I was afraid Frolic would try and harm her out of jealousy. We used a basinette that we put in our bedroom next to our bed that had a netting across the top. Once the baby was safely in the basinette, you could zip up the netting and the cat couldn't get to her. After the first week at home with Deanna, we discovered Frolic slept under her basinette every night. If she squeeked or cried, he'd stand up on his back feet and check to make sure she was alright. He loved all three of our babies.

Once, when Dane was little, we were all sitting around in the living room watching a movie together. Frolic was asleep in the middle of the floor, stretched straight out. Dane laid down in the same position in front Frolic with his nose to Frolic's. Frolic opened one eye and looked at Dane. The two laid there for a few minutes looking at each other. Then Dane reached over, grabbed one of Frolic eyebrow hairs, and jerked it out!! Frolic shrieked, jumped straight into the air, landed again in the same place, shook himself (as if in disbelief), and then settled down again. The two watched each other for a few minutes more and then Dane reached over and jerked out a whisker. Same reaction from Frolic. The third time, it was another eyebrow hair. At this point, Frolic had had enough and walked away from the fray. But not once through this whole ordeal had he bitten or scratched that baby.

About three years ago, we had to have Frolic put to sleep. We buried him in the backyard and we all mourned his passing. But no one mourned like me. I still tear up when I think about him. He was my companion for many years before I married. He was fun to be around and made me want to come home at night. He was a pet, but he was faithful, and I loved him dearly.

In the month after Frolic died, I couldn't look at a toy without crying. Everything reminded me of him and the pain was very sharp. But there was another side, as well. I didn't have to watch where I walked in fear I'd step on him. There was no litter box to clean out daily and the house began to lose that "cat smell". The litter that had stuck to his feet and gotten scattered all over the house began to disappear. Although I missed him, there was a good side to the loss, as well.

As Rachel and I talked this morning, I was struck that everything in life is sort of this way. I couldn't wait to get the children out of diapers, but I miss that time I had with them several times a day - tickling them on the changing table, kissing little toes, smiling and singing to my beautiful babies. It was a relief when they all began bathing themselves. However, now I don't get to play, "Stand up, stand up for Jesus" in the tub so I can wash them. When the last one began skipping his morning nap, I was thrilled that we could do more without having to stop every two hours for naps, but I now miss that quiet time in the mornings to work on projects or chores while the baby slept.

As our children grow and life changes, we grieve the things we miss. But we have to let go to move forward. Deanna sometimes tells me she doesn't want to grow up. I respond that the best years of her life are yet to come. While childhood is a great time, free of responsibility and emotional upheaval, adulthood brings marriage (for some) and children. There's no greater gift in life than to give birth, but you have to give up childhood to get there.

So, as we grieve the losses of this life, whether it be Frolic or Hilde, bathtime or naptime, I have to remember that there are joys disguised in every tragedy, hope in every difficulty. God gives us the grace to deal with the difficult times but, even more than that, he shows us the good in ever hard thing we endure. We may not see it immediately, or we may choose not to focus on the clean jute rug or the lack of litter in the house, but it's there. We must just open our eyes to see.