....I feel somewhat strange, maybe silly, sort of foolish, being so distraught over the death of a feline. I don't know what the best word would be to describe what's going on here. I am sad. Even more disturbing is the idea that I am confused and maybe embarrassed over the fact of the grief. I'm just sad and morose.
I go to a home-group Bible study on Wed. nights, at the house of a couple I've known for years. They open their door to about a dozen people all together, maybe eight or ten from week to week, who show up on Wednesday evenings for some sort of study, fellowship, good eats, prayer concerns. What our congregation refers to as 'doing life together'. And now that my BFF, P., is part of this group, I guess these people would be the folks to whom I am most closely connected that are not blood relations.
After our good eats, some sort of devotional study and conversation each week, we share prayer concerns. Family members or friends, occasionally people we don't even know, but have heard of their hurts and desire to be lifted up and remembered. People last night had parents who were suffering from incurable illnesses, adult children who had brain surgery and very poor prognosis, family members/children who won't likely become adults that were all in need of prayer support.
I did not even mention the idea that I had a small cat named Lucy who was struggling. It seemed so mundane, so inconsequential, so petty compared to people who were having to deal with the unthinkable/unbelievable thoughts doctors had caused them to face. So I laid down on the tile floor with Lucy last night and wept. Not wanting to seem silly, or foolish. Or appear emotionally raw and bereft when others, people who I know and love, were dealing with heartaches that must seem insurmountable. But knowing the end was near...
And... I'm still sad.
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