I’m a few days behind in posting the daily Kaddishim, and I am appalled to confess that I can’t remember who this one was for. I put “_kitty” at the end of the filename. I remember that Mira and I took turns laying down tracks while we were making dinner for Shabbes. We’d just finished running the dogs ragged at Ft Funston.
Somebody’s cat had died. I can’t remember whose. I’m appalled. I guess I’ve just entered a whole new phase in this project, in which marking death has become so routine for me that even two days later, I can’t remember.
I suppose death is like this. It’s a matter of routine if you’re paying attention, really. You don’t need to be clergy or working in medicine or at an undertaker’s; you just need to read a newspaper.
Which is what I think I did—but I can’t remember.
Was it one of Mira’s friends who lost a cat?
I can’t remember.
But I remember every cat I’ve ever lost, and every dog, and each one felt like I’d never hurt this much again. I remember going through the motions at work, trying to keep breathing regularly, trying to find words to describe what had happened to my family and friends.
It must have been that kind of day for someone we know on Friday.
Mira, can you remember?