Hearts and bandages

I have been taking care of two cats for some time now, and recently one of them died. I have never seen someone die before, so my feelings are all mixed up. I’m shocked.

She came to me in the morning and woke me up, lying beside me in my bed. I petted her the way she liked it, but then she suddenly stopped breathing and moving. My heart stopped and my mind was racing. I panicked. I tried so many ways to revive her, but all I could do was to watch her die. I have wished for so many things, but I have never wished so much just to bring life back to this cat. Then I realized something. We don’t live in a world of magic and wizardry. There is no Life 3 and no magic life-bringing powder spreading over one’s head. When death comes, life is gone.

I couldn’t look at her. I had called the owner to pick her up. I packed her in my bedsheet and put her in the cage. I went back and forth and I cried so many times. My chest is in pain. I can hardly breathe. It hurts so much. Watching someone die is too painful. And watching the owner suffer from the loss of her beloved cat made me feel even worse. I failed to take care a cat. I deserve the greatest punishment on earth.

Scary, isn’t it? Life and death. What is life and what is death? And why are other inexplicible things such are thoughts, happiness, sorrow, love and hatred not as scary as life and death?

When someone dies, she is gone forever. You will never be able to talk to her the way you did before. You will never see her smile. You will never see her make those funny/cute expressions when she is focused on something. You will never feel her hand holding onto yours. When you see the last of a dead person, you would caress her, touch her as much as possible while you can, feel the last of her warmth. But when I saw the cat, I was afraid. I didn’t want to touch her, and I didn’t want to see her. I would bother her in her eternal sleep, that was all I could think of. And I was scared to death.

I am scared of death.

Living means dying, meaning that when we live, we are actually just preparing for our death. So why do we keep on living? Will we even bring our love, hatred, feelings and memories to the grave? And if not, what is the point?