Today, I had to do one of the hardest things a mother has to do. I told my children that one of their cats was dead. Not just dead, but killed at the hands of a predator.
As we pull into our driveway, I stop at the grave-site and turn off the car. “Girls, I have something to tell you. Duma was killed last night. And your dad buried her here. Do you want to walk to the burial site with me?”
Tears ran down our cheeks as we stared at the handmade cross and flowers. “I loved Duma,” said Emily. I gave her a squeeze. “He used all his power to protect his sister.” I nodded and gave another squeeze. “Luna must be very scared. It would be like me watching my brother get eaten by a grizzly bear.” We cried together.
I never said it would be okay; I never told her not to cry. I just let the emotion drain. And drain it did. And now, while they are sad, they have accepted it as part of life.
Rest in Peace, Duma. You are fondly remembered.