Bob and Fiona

Towards the end of his life, Bob's lifelong stentorian voice became lighter, softer, like a very tired compliant child.  He spoke little, mostly answering any questions or requests with a very quiet "Okay."

We had planned our cremations years ago (because we are people who Make A Plan).  And his ashes will eventually go into concrete to become part of an artificial reef.  We didn't have to discuss this.

But, I did have one idea.

"Bob, would you like to take Fiona with you?"

He had rescued Fiona 20+ years ago, when she was a tiny kitten unconscious on a hot sidewalk.  And she was his cat from then on, sleeping on his pillow (and letting him know when it was time for breakfast), watching TV with him (sitting on the back of the chair with her front paws resting on his shoulder, generally being wherever he was.

But age claimed her, and we had to put her down the same morning that Bob received his diagnosis.

We had her cremated, with the idea of spreading her ashes in the butterfly garden.  But we were distracted by Bob's diagnosis, scared, starting treatment, going to the clinic, going to Shands for consultation.  Bob wasn't prepared to let her go in the middle of all that.  He wanted it to be at a time when he could focus on her.

We did have a plan.  On July 9, the anniversary of his diagnosis and her passing, after he was home, we would let her go.

But I thought, now, that they could go together.

The soft tired little voice, tinged with a bit of hope

"Fiona can go with me?'

Yes

"I would like to take Fiona with me."  And with a little smile he went back to sleep.


Today I brought his ashes home.  And I opened the case, and tucked in the tiny bag that held Fiona.  He doesn't have to go alone.