Saying goodbye
No one likes saying goodbye. As Rory says in Gilmore Girls, “There’s nothing good about a goodbye. It’s a poorly named ritual.” Unless the thing you’re saying farewell to is more of a good riddance, chances are the goodbye is to something or someone you love and if it’s the final goodbye, I don’t think there’s anything worse.
On Saturday, June 19 around 6pm, I said the final goodbye to my 9 month old kitten, Magnus. He had been sick for months and after exhaustive testing with no answers, the conclusion was that he had FIP (feline infectious peritonitis) which is fatal with no treatment at all. I debated for about 12 hours on what to do, but once I realized that his life wasn’t a life anymore, it was a matter of weighing the positives and negatives… and I didn’t want to be selfish.
Frequent readers of my “Magnus updates” on Twitter will recall that Magnus first got sick in late February. I took him to the local vet, they treated his tummy problems, and everything seemed fine. Then he started having trouble walking. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but after a few days it really started worrying me. Back to the vet we went but this time I was practically pushed back out the door. “Take him to a neurologist” was all the vet would say without even doing any bloodwork or x-rays. Here I was with a 6 month old kitten, truly feeling like a single parent, and I wasn’t feeling taken care of by the vet. After another visit to this same office, x-rays and bloodwork were finally done. Unfortunately, neither showed anything. By the end of May with little to no improvement (and zero help from the local vet), I went for a 2nd opinion. While I wasn’t told anything different, I was finally given an explanation as to why the neurologist would be more useful. At this point I already had the appointment, but this helped to solidify that choice.
On Sunday, June 13, 1 day after Magnus turned 9 months old, we headed downtown to Animal Medical Center and I spent 6 agonizing hours waiting for any kind of information. I knew they were putting him under anesthesia for the MRI and spinal tap, but him being as tiny as he was, I was immediately worried that something would happen. The longer I waited for word, the more worried I got. Eventually the vet (who was amazing!) told me to just head home and she’d call if anything happened. “No news is good news,” she said, and sent me on my way. I cried the entire subway ride home which, I believe, makes me an official New Yorker now.
Around 10 the next morning, the neurologist called me. She said Magnus had finally woken up around midnight and they were keeping him extra warm because he was having some hypothermia issues. Then she said what no one wants to hear: the MRI and spinal tap showed nothing. There was still a tiny sliver of hope that 2 more tests could come back with something, but she was heavily leaning towards the possibility of FIP. He barely moved the entire car ride home later that day which just broke my heart even more.
Two agonizing days of waiting for tests results and many many tears, finally on Wednesday I got the news: both tests were negative. To say I was devastated is an understatement. I sobbed harder than I have in a long time. No one ever wants to say goodbye to a pet, obviously, but Magnus was only a baby. It just didn’t seem fair that his life should be cut short.
Before we left on Saturday, I wrapped him up in a blanket and prepared to say my goodbyes. I knew I was going to be able to be in the room with him, but just in case I couldn’t get the words out I wanted to make sure I told him how much I loved him. I was crying on his little head and just pouring my heart out, when he looked up and locked eyes with me, almost as if to say, “It’s ok momma.” I kissed his little nose and for the first time ever, he didn’t push me away. I picked him up and went over to Mojo (who had barely come near him in months) and they touched noses. It was the most beautiful goodbye that could have happened.
I’m not going to go into details about the vet experience that night because thinking about it is too much. He went peacefully and he can finally rest. Instead, I want to remember the curious little kitten he was. The little dude who 100% lived up to his namesake and never stopped fighting. The little brother who followed Mojo around everywhere and was the definition of a copy cat. The snugglebug who just wanted to curl up on my side all the time and fall asleep in my arms. The little kitten who was so scared when I brought him home but ended up having a life filled with love, even if it was a shortened one.
Magnus
9/12/20 - 6/19/21
Grief is, in my opinion, the worst thing to go through. There’s no right or wrong way to grieve, no formula, no timetable. It comes in waves and while the waves may get smaller over time, they still hit with full force when they come. After my miscarriage, I drowned in grief for a year before I found a way to pull myself out. Honestly, if I didn’t have Mojo, I’d probably be drowning again. I know that saying goodbye to Magnus was the best choice for him and I’ll never doubt that, but it doesn’t make the grief any less.
- Danielle
