Ciara Eng ’28

Navigating Loss

I almost died when I was five. I was in the hospital for a month to rid my body of an infection that was slowly killing me. I didn’t know what death was yet. I was mostly annoyed and tired, and I just wanted a cat.

Over and over again, I begged my anticipatory, already-grieving dad for a cat until he finally quieted his moribund daughter by promising we’d get one. Unfortunately for him, I survived, and the begging continued. My dad ignored me, hoping it would pass. When my aunt  Aine came over to check how I was doing, she discovered my dad’s broken promise and drove me to an animal shelter herself. We returned home with a cat in a cardboard box and presented it to my father, who was stunned.

“She wanted a fucking cat, so she got her fucking cat,” my aunt declared. Her thick Derry accent silenced my dad. She dropped a bag of cat food at the entrance to our home, and left.

*

My cat, Chloe, was not the easiest cat. She would hiss, swat, groan. Throughout her first year with us, I whined about how mean she was. I remember sitting on the counter crying as my aunt disinfected a fresh scratch on my face.

“You’ll be grand, she just has a personality,” she reassured me.

After two years, Chloe became my best friend. She’d stick by me when I was sick and walk me home from the bus stop. Once, she brought a dead bird into my room and my mom made a big deal about it, saying we shouldn’t let her into our rooms anymore. Chloe didn’t know any better, though. She’d only brought me lunch.

*

Aunt Aine was a “difficult woman” according to my mom. They were too Irish for their own good and would go years without talking. I barely saw Aine, except for when my mom developed cancer. Somehow all their disagreements went out the window and Aine stuck by my mom’s side. She would give us bubble baths and make salads from the restaurant she and our mom worked at before we were born. As soon as my mom’s tests came back negative, they got into another fight and parted ways again.

*

When I got news of my aunt’s sudden death two years ago, my mom and I decided that I’d go to two lacrosse practices that day. We drove around from field to field pressing “Decline” to every call that came in. I watched my mom’s head follow the ball from stick to stick, arms folded. I played well. I even got compliments from my coach!

The grief was not mine. My cousin had lost her mother, my granny had lost her daughter, and my mom had lost her sister. I convinced myself that I had no tears. I helped organize the funeral and prepared my bedroom for my granny. Chloe had a tendency to leave the house when we had guests over, but she stayed in the living room for the funeral and nuzzled my granny’s hand.

*

Life went on. I would ignore condolences and keep moving forward. I barely knew my aunt, we had spent no time together since I was eleven. It was stupid and selfish of me to waste time grieving a person I barely had any recollection of. When I went on runs, I’d avoid her street. Her house grew vines and the bushes had overgrown.

*

I often joke that Chloe took her title as my Childhood Cat too seriously, since she died the day after my eighteenth birthday. That it wasn’t her choice to die, she was struck by a speeding car, can’t really be twisted into something funny. I like to let people believe that I had all the time possible with her, that I got to say goodbye. I thought that I’d have dreams of her, but she wasn’t there. My dreams were filled with empty food bowls and dents on the couch where she used to sleep. My cat’s unfortunate passing knocked me over, and gave my aunt’s enough time to catch up to me. I thought about Chloe and the way she would sit at the end of the bed and how she looked at me with eyes that were the same color as my aunts. The lost time was a constant tug. It felt that the possibilities for a deeper relationship were taken from me. My mom and I placed their urns next to each other.

In my dreams, I find myself back at the shelter 14 years ago. I look up at Aine, a brown and white tabby in her arms. The cat looks nervous as my aunt squats to my level. I don’t know what death is yet.

I now know that death doesn’t wait for you to say goodbye. It comes whenever it wants.