The Shape of My Grief, the Weight of My Love
I wake up slowly, held in the arms of stillness. The light slipping through the blinds is soft and golden, the kind of light that doesn’t ask me to rush. Today is May 15th, and I feel it before I even remember why. My heart is heavy but not crushing. My breath is shallow but steady. I know this weight. It is old and familiar.
Tigger’s birthday.
I lay in bed for a few minutes, my hand resting on my chest, breathing through the thickness in the air. I remember how his body felt curled against mine. How he used to jump up and nudge my face like he was checking in on me. That orange fur, those big curious eyes, the warmth of his presence—all of it feels close today.
I sit up and move slowly through the house. Each movement is intentional. I don’t want to perform. I want to be. I want to honor what is here with me right now—grief, sadness, love, memory, slowness, stillness. I move with them like they are honored guests in my space.
I light a candle. I choose one that smells like amber and honey, something warm, something that could’ve clung to his fur in another life. The flame rises quickly, alive, and I whisper, “Happy Birthday, Tigger.” My voice cracks but I don’t turn away from it.
I place the candle on the floor in front of me and sit cross-legged, placing both hands on my knees. I don’t close my eyes yet. I look around the room and feel the weight of the past in every quiet corner. It’s not haunting. It’s sacred.
Selene slinks in, her movements quiet but full of purpose. She pauses in the doorway like she’s reading the room. I know that look. She’s checking to see if I’m leaving. If I’m vanishing into a place where she can’t follow. She does this sometimes, especially when my energy shifts. I speak to her gently.
“I’m right here, baby Selene. I’m not going anywhere.”
She doesn’t come close, but she doesn’t walk away either. She stays near the doorway, watching me the way she always does—like her heart has known too many goodbyes. I feel that in my bones.
I begin the ritual by calling in my breath. I speak to it. Come steady. Come soft. Come as you are. With every inhale, I gather the grief. With every exhale, I give it permission to speak.
I remember the day Tigger died. The way he leaned into me as I held him in that little room. How the vet gave me time. How I whispered over and over, I love you, I love you, I love you, like I could imprint the words onto his soul. And maybe I did. Maybe that’s why I still feel him.
The tears come slow and then fast. I don’t wipe them. I let them fall. They are part of the offering today. My grief is not a wound. It’s a thread that connects me to a love that didn’t end, only shifted.
I reach beside me and grab a small green ball. It’s faded from his bites but still soft. Like the memories that still hold me. I roll it gently between my palms, remembering how he used to chase it like it was alive. He’d swat it with a twist of his paw and look so proud of himself. I smile through the tears.
Selene inches a little closer, just enough that she can see me clearly. Her eyes are wide, alert. I think she senses Tigger. Or maybe she senses the way my energy opens when I remember him. She watches like she’s trying to learn what love looks like. What safety feels like. What it means to stay.
I speak to her too.
“You don’t have to be him. You’re allowed to be you. I love you exactly as you are.”
I let those words settle in the space between us. I know she feels them, even if her body doesn’t show it. She stays close. That’s her version of trust.
I close my eyes and place my hand over my heart. I imagine a golden thread connecting Tigger, Selene, and me. I say thank you—to the grief, to the memories, to my capacity to feel so deeply. I give thanks for every emotion that comes through today, even the ones I don’t understand.
This is the way I honor Tigger, my grief, my sadness, and my joy in this moment.
After some time, I open my eyes and notice Selene is gone. She must’ve slipped away quietly. Maybe she’ll check on me later.
I sit back and breathe. I picture myself embracing Tigg Tigg—his soft fur, his purr, the way he melted into me when I held him close. I stay in that embrace for as long as I need.
Thank you for this moment, Spirit.
Thank you, Tigg Tigg.
I love you. Àṣẹ.