One Year
Content Warnings: pet loss, grief
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One year. July 1st will be one year. July 1st will be one year since you've been gone. Your name was Flynn, you were a cat my dad rescued from a place he used to work at. You're not dead, not to my knowledge at least, but you're also not here. July 1st will be one year since I moved to where I am now. July 1st will be one year since you didn't move with me.
I stupidly left my phone charger in the house. I stupidly left you in the U-Haul while I went back to get it. My dad stupidly didn't hold on to you when I opened the U-Haul door back up. And then you were gone. It was the fastest I've ever seen you move. You were gone.
I tried looking for you. I called your name as loud as I could. I circled the block, but you were nowhere to be seen. My dad made me cut the search off quicker than I wanted, and then we took off without you. I sat in the passenger seat and cried the whole way to my destination. Was it my fault? Was it my dad's? Was it simply just meant to be? I don't know. But what I do know is that I haven't stopped thinking about you. I put together a search party for you, but it was fruitless.
I want you to know I did everything I could to try and find you. I also want you to know that I don't blame you for running away, you were still quite feral after all. You were born outside. Perhaps you just wanted to return to familiarity. If I think about it rationally, the likeliest outcome is that you're out there doing just fine. Perhaps you're even better off this way. If another family hasn't scooped you up and given you a loving home, then perhaps you're out there slaying wildebeests and playing Lion King. Maybe you have a family now, maybe you have new friends.
I just wish I knew where you were. It's okay that you chose the outside world, I just wish I knew for certain that you were safe and sound. The fact that I don't know, and likely never will, is absolutely murdering me inside.
Before you entered my life, I had a dog. His name was Eddie, and he was my whole world. I had him for his whole life, and he lived to be twenty, which is much longer than the average lifespan of a dog. This might sound strange, Flynn, but I feel like losing you hurt much worse than losing Eddie did. I don't like comparing things like that because of how different the situations are, but it's because of those differences that I feel that way. I had Eddie for twenty years, way longer than I thought I would. I'm gonna be twenty-five next month. He was almost the same age as me when he passed away.
During that twenty-year time, I spent as much time with him as I possibly could. We gave each other great lives, and then he left me when it was his time to go. It hurts deeply, I miss the hell out of that dog, but I can at least feel at peace knowing that I got as much out of him as I could while I still had him.
I can't say that about you, Flynn. I didn't get to watch you grow old, I didn't get to bring you to new and cool places. I'm not gonna get to see the cat you grow into, and I feel like I've been robbed. Eddie left me at the exact moment he was supposed to. You were taken from me prematurely.
Maybe it's selfish of me to think that. Maybe it truly was meant to be this way. I just can't help but miss you, Flynn. I miss you so much, I would give anything to hold you again. And now it's almost been one year. One long, excruciating year. My phone gallery showed me a picture of you today, it was a memory. It was great to see the picture again, but it ended up hurting me so much because I knew it was just a picture. That's all I have of you now, pictures. I wish I had more pictures. Better yet, I wish I had you.
You were in the U-Haul. It was perfect. Why did I forget my phone charger? Why did my dad not hold onto you while I went back and grabbed it? Maybe this is the way it had to be. Maybe my perspective on this is a selfish one.
I’m sure I’ll be able to think more clearly about this after more time has passed. But, right now, it still feels like it just happened. It still feels like it's only been twenty-four hours. It’s been nearly a year, and yet it still feels like no time has passed at all. I will never forgive myself for forgetting my phone charger and then not bringing you with me when I went to go grab it. I will never forgive my dad for not securing you in the U-Haul while I was out of it and then making me cut my search off before I could find you. Eddie had a full life, and I wanted you to have that as well. And you will! You will have a full life, just not with me. Maybe I can learn to come to terms with that in the future.
One year. July 1st will be one year since my life changed in multiple ways. It's a very strange feeling that one of the best days of my entire life is also one of the worst. If July 1st, 2023, truly was the last time I will ever see you, then I would like to throw this message out into the world and hope it somehow reaches you. I’m sorry I left without you. I’m sorry we didn’t get to have a whole lot of time together, but I hope you’re still out there and I hope you’re thriving. I miss you with every fiber of my being. Thank you for bringing joy to my life, even if it was only for a brief moment. I love you, Flynn.
