On Grief and the Grocery Store

It has been 6 days since I had to put Coltrane down, and, so far, I've been alternating between the two stages of grief:

1. Pain
2. More Pain

The pain has been hitting me hard (kind of like a punch in the stomach) at the most random and sometimes inopportune times. Other times, people I'm talking to seem to be expecting me to lose it, but then I just don't.  And I don't know why.

For example, this past weekend, Chris and I played a duo show at a fall festival to raise money for a local no-kill animal shelter. I was dreading this, as I figured I'd lose it as soon as I saw the cute animals. But, for some reason, I was ok. We saw cute doggies, I pet a pony on the nose, and still, I was alright. A fellow musician and friend was saying how sorry she was about Coltrane, and somehow I could talk about what happened without crying (though I think she expected me to start, which is pretty reasonable). So yeah, I was fine. That is, until we left. I cried in the car on the way home. Don't know why.

The most unexpected thing that set me off was going to the grocery store on Sunday evening. Chris and I split up to cover more ground... I was to go to the produce section to get zucchini and garlic and bananas. As soon as I walked into that part of the store, there was that familiar punch in the stomach as I realized that I would no longer be buying large amounts of lettuce and fresh herbs for my bunny boy to happily munch on. Now there's no reason for me to have all the SKU #'s for all the types of lettuce and cilantro and parsley memorized. Now I don't need to stop at the grocery store three times a week.

I did my best to keep it together as we continued to shop... and I think I probably came off as extraordinarily grumpy, but as soon as we walked outside I totally lost it and ugly-cried all the way home.

I keep realizing that I no longer have to do these small little things like go to the grocery store all the time, go straight home after work no matter what, keep cords and plugs out of reach always, clean litter boxes, arrange for pet sitters any time I'm out of town, put someone else's needs before my own, etc. Most people would say that those things make a person's life more difficult, but I whole-heartedly disagree. Those things meant getting to have a happy bunny to come home to every single day. Those things meant a loving, trusting bond established between bunny and bunny mommy. Those things meant I was fulfilling my responsibilities and doing a damn good job at fulfilling them. Those things meant that I could give a great life to Coltrane, who depended on me for every single thing.

But what I never realized before until now is that all those little things aren't just part of a routine, they are also very ingrained in my sense of self. Chris and I adopted Coltrane shortly after we graduated and moved out into the "real" world. My whole independent adult life took shape with Coltrane there. It was always: Who am I? I am woman who has a pet rabbit (aka I am a crazy bunny lady). I am woman who takes care of things that need taken care of. I am a woman who puts others' needs first. I am woman who loves. I am a woman who would mostly rather stay home and sit on the floor with a rabbit than go out and party. I am a woman who will be DD mostly so that I don't drink too much to drive home to my bunny. I am a woman who is patient. I am a woman who gains so much from the act of taking care of a pet. I am a woman who is never truly home alone.

And now? I am a woman who cries. I am a woman who is lost. I am a woman who literally doesn't know how to live without her bunny companion.