THE LITTLEST THINGS

Dear Spike:

Emma died early Sunday morning in your mother’s arms, lying between us with her head on my pillow and her tiny body curled up in the covers. It was what I had been dreading and yet, in her last hours, what I had been hoping for as well. On her final day she couldn’t walk and wouldn’t drink or eat. She gasped for breath and meowed softly. I really believe she wanted to go. And when she did, I was relieved for her.

I made for her a wooden box from some plywood and a section of two-by-fours left over from when I built the wine cellar. Inside, I laid her between two sheets cut from her favorite yellow blanket. And then I closed the top and nailed it shut.

It was still dark as I dug the hole, under a paving stone near the garage, with your mother standing next to me in the snow. The spot we selected was one she enjoyed looking over from the window in your room. The birds gather there, perching on the sprawling lilac bush by the back deck, picking seeds from the faces of the sunflowers in our garden.

The birds hadn’t visited since the snow began, but we’ve seen them often in the past few days. Today, your mother told me she saw the barren bush was filled with birds. “Maybe 50 of them,” she said. They’d come to visit Emma, we agreed.

We began to paint your room the day after Emma died. We needed a distraction from the sorrow of losing our beautiful little orange tabby. The room we chose is in the northwest corner of our home. It stays coolest in the summer and warmest in the winter, and when the sun sets it is often filled with the most stunning colors and shadows.

One day, I’m sure you will notice me gazing out your window at the row of paving stones near the garage. You may sense that I am sad as I watch the birds dart between the branches of the lilac bush. But this is not the case.

I am simply watching. For the birds in the lilac bush. For the wind against the wild flowers that grow beneath the window. For the shadows of the giant sunflowers to wash across the grass.

I’m pleased that this is the view you’ll have from your window. Perhaps it will help you understand that the littlest things in life are often the most beautiful.

Love,
dad