I just got home from picking up my cat's ashes and certificate of cremation at the vet's office.
I waited until I thought I could go in there without causing a scene. 4 weeks to the day, it's been.
I was fine in the car. I was fine going in. I was fine greeting the familiar staff, even with their condolences. I was fine when the vet who euthanized him came out to greet me. I was fine when she went to the cupboard to retrieve the little box.
The box was in a little brown bag with a ribbon and a card--a little "memorial" poem, which I haven't read yet. Because the minute I took the bag, felt its light weight, and looked down onto the box and saw Eliot printed on it, I realized it was all over. It was all over.
It's all over.