Death | Suzie Speaks

Today, I lost my little friend.

I often see the phrase ‘I have no words‘ written after the death of someone important. I have plenty of words. Hundreds.

My Little Friend

From that very first day when she pushed against my hand at the RSPCA centre she has been a huge support in my life, the only constant that has been with me for thirteen years. She’s seen me through my graduation, she sat on my lap when I typed up applications for job interviews and she celebrated with me when I got them, she was there when I began new relationships, she was there when they ended, she was there during the highest and lowest points of my life. She has moved house with me six times, taking every move in her little stride. We’ve seen in countless New Years, birthdays and Christmas’s together. She would chase me around the house with her stuffed toys, her eyes growing wider just before she was about to pounce. She was there when my family broke apart.

She was there.

When others have judged me, insulted me, put me down and dismissed me, she has been the one thing that has never failed to greet me after a bad day and show me unconditional love. Every night, as I got into bed, she would lay on me and give me a kiss goodnight before retiring to her own little bed in the corner of my room. If I cried, she would jump up and push her head against mine. She was always an independent soul and made it perfectly clear when she wanted to be left alone (I have the scars to prove it) and right to the very end her feisty nature and her hatred of the other cats never waned. She was funny, she had a quirky little personality and could never quite establish a normal miaow, instead creating something that resembled more of a squeak. Her presence allowed me the confidence to feel safe on my own in the house at night. She was my little safety net in times of darkness, and made the happy times seem so much brighter.

Some may role their eyes and proclaim that she was ‘just a cat.’ To me, she wasn’t just a cat, she was my company, my confidante, my family and at times she was my only friend.

She was there. She was mine.

I was with her in her last moments. At the age of nineteen I know that she had a good life, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I did everything I could for her and I know that she was happy and loved, but I wish that I could turn back the clock and live it all over again with her. I want to bring her home and protect her. I want to feed her, play with her, cuddle up with her, talk to her.

What I don’t know is how I am possibly going to do the rest without her.

Goodbye, my little friend. I’ll miss you forever.

You can also find me on Twitter and Tumblr @suzie81blog

Thank you so much for all the comments of support that I have received since publishing this post… Your messages have made me smile, made me cry and are helping me to come to terms with things.

As a teacher there are certain students who touch your life more than you could ever possibly realise. P and D are two such students.

Both were in some of my very first classes as a newly qualified teacher. P was quite shy and socially a little awkward, but she worked hard and was a high achiever despite dealing with the fact that her mother was dying from breast cancer. D was visually impaired but was often the saving grace in many lessons because of his positive attitude and high spirits, despite finding it difficult in a mainstream school. If I’m being honest, neither of them had an easy time at school from the other students – children can be incredibly cruel. However, they never let any harsh comments or criticism affect their self-confidence and their studies.

Over the years I watched these two grow and develop into wonderful young adults. D was an enthusiastic member of my performing arts and music classes, performing several times in front of his peers. I started teaching P the piano and she discovered that she was naturally musical.

In the year before I left the school, both had to deal with enormously cruel trials and tribulations of life. P’s mother passed away when P was just 15 years old and D was diagnosed with a brain tumour at the age of 16. I visited D after he had started chemotherapy and was so proud of him for his ability to look on the positive side of things. P worked hard during her exams and did very well, continuing her studies into sixth form.

Over the last few years we’ve become close. I no longer teach either of them in school but we keep in touc

h through texts and Facebook and I still teach P the piano occasionally, workload permitting. When I left the school, I told P that I would take her out for cocktails for her 18th birthday. P and I did the Race For Life together last year while D watched, being too ill to participate. D texts me a lot to let me know how he’s doing and I was delighted to see him on TV not long ago as part of a documentary about the NHS.

Earlier this year, The Bloke and I attended D’s 18th birthday party, which was packed with his family and friends. As promised, on P’s birthday a few weeks ago I took her and D for cocktails at my favourite restaurant, where we had a great time, particularly watching D consume his entire bodyweight in chicken wings and P attempting to balance in her fabulous but ridiculously high shoes.

They’re currently doing extremely well for themsleves. D has fought hard against his illness and is in remission. He starts college in a few weeks where he is planning to continue his performance studies and regularly holds fund-raising events to raise money for Cancer Research. P helps out at her church regularly, where her father is the vicar. She has passed her A-Levels and has been given an unconditional offer to her first choice university, where she will be studying theology. What strikes me most about both of them is how happy they are. Yes, they both have their down days, but they pick themselves back up again and make me laugh with their thoughts and musings on life.

These two young people are an inspiration. Both could easily have given up on their dreams and wallowed in self-pity. Both could have blamed everyone else for their adversities and become angry and bitter. Instead, they have grabbed life with both hands and made the absolute most of everything they possibly can.

Their stories and characters serve as superb role-models to the rest of us. On days where I am upset by things that are essentially insignificant in the big picture of life I am reminded that there are always others that are dealing with huge issues and still maintain positivity and goals. I’m proud of them both and the fact that I’ve been able to be a little part of their journeys. I know that they’re going to continue to be wonderful members of society. They remind me why I do the job in the first place.