Widow's Voice

Love has Paws

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Dear Kitty Cat,

What a silly name your dad gave you. I tried to convince him to choose a more creative name, but he was settled on Kitty Cat. Now, I couldn’t imagine you having any other name. And I could not imagine life without you, though I know all too well how fragile that statement is.

Just over 13 years ago, you were meowing at the door of the spa and salon where I worked as a receptionist. I remember your sweet face at the door and your paws on the glass as if to say, “someone, please help!” My boss was going to take you to the shelter, but I couldn’t let it happen. She suggested that you’d be a great Valentine’s Day gift for my boyfriend (your dad).

I remember his face when I opened the back of my car to show him his gift. He kept saying, “Noooo!” But, don’t worry, that reaction quickly shifted. Your relationship turned into love very quickly.

Over the years, I was convinced he loved you more than any human he’d ever known, including me! You spent countless hours on his desk while he worked, and y’all took the MOST naps. I think his love for sleeping was one of your favorite things about him. Sometimes when we would talk on the phone, I would get annoyed because he would just stop talking to me and start talking to you! He talked to you in this high-pitched voice he reserved only for animals. He would always say you were “being very cat.”

I hope you know how much he loved you. And, I always wonder if you were confused about why he never came home. Did you wonder where he went? Perhaps there’s a spiritual or metaphysical thing between the Afterlife and animals, and you know exactly where he is, and maybe I am the only one with all the questions. Either way, I really just need you to know that he loved you so, so much.

I want you to know how much you have helped me survive the past four years. Your constant companionship has gotten me through the darkest of my nights. Even as I am typing this, you are against my leg, waiting on me to finish so that we can go to sleep together. You have given me the companionship I have needed through my grief and even through a pandemic. Really, you are my best friend.

Boris and I never had children…well, no human ones. And sometimes, you feel like the closest thing I have to him. You connect us together because we loved you together. You were ours, and now you’re just mine. I don’t know how many years we have left together and I get really sad when I think too much about living life without you. I just know that you brought magic and love to my relationship with Boris. You brought us laughter, excitement, and even arguments (I did not always agree with Boris’s neglect of your litter box and your dirty water bowl). You were part of our love story. And now you are a part of my grief story. My survival story. You are forever a part of me. I miss your dad more than words can say (I know, I tell you this all the time), and I wonder if you miss him too or if that is not a cat thing. Either way, I want you to know that I love you, and I feel so lucky that Boris and I got to have you in our lives.

If you can talk to him, tell him I love him and that we wish he were here snuggling in for the night.

Love,

Victoria (your human mom)

About Victoria Helmly

My love story began in 2005 and though my love is no longer physically here with me, our story has not ended. I met Boris when we were 14, but it was not until our junior and senior year of high school that we became more than friends (he was my first kiss!). We went to the same college and although our relationship was a bit rocky through our early 20s, we made it through. He was my person. Our relationship grew stronger as we matured and learned about one another more as adults. I was certain that he was my forever. We talked about the future a lot and we knew we would get married, but we did not want to rush—he was still finishing graduate school and I was just starting my first full-time job. We did not realize how little time we had left together.

In the summer of 2017, Boris was hospitalized three times for active suicidal ideation. This was a heartbreaking, exhausting, and life-changing experience. After 10 months of therapy, medication, and support groups, Boris died by suicide on April 7, 2018. My life now has two parts: the one before April 7, 2018 and the one after. My very best friend, my person was now gone.

If you were to ask how I am doing now, 2.5 years later, I would say I am okay. I am living. My world continues to spin, and I continue to move forward. However, I still carry deep sorrow and loneliness. I have struggled with PTSD, anxiety, and depression. Sometimes I still cannot believe that he is actually gone. I still feel him with me, and I know that I will never stop loving and missing him.

I am currently in school for my Ph.D. and live just outside of Atlanta with our cat, Kitty Cat (Boris is responsible for the creative name). I work as a graduate research assistant currently, but I worked for three years with our State Unit on Aging prior to going back to school. I love movies, my friends and family, long walks, and traveling.