Finding My Way Back

grief and Nani's ongoing gifts

I have taken a break from writing. This is a pattern for me. Grief is a familiar place that stunts my creative pursuits. It sucks all the extra energy out of me, and I have to focus on getting through the day. But I am finding my way back to it.

At the beginning of June, we lost my sweet soul-cat, Nani. This is something I had been anticipating since her diagnosis in February, but it still feels unbelievable that it actually happened. And here I am on the other side of it.

I wrote out a detailed article telling her death story, but I’ve decided those are memories I want to hold tight to my chest. It’s challenging to read and share in it’s entirety, but I do want to highlight some of the magic and connectedness I felt throughout losing her.

Photos by my lovely friend, Kathryn Ray

Nani’s passing was truly the most natural exiting of this world I have ever seen. If there was a “perfect” way to die, I witnessed it.

Slowly over the course of her sickness, we watched as the life force was drained out of her. Not aggressively or all at once. It was gradual, almost like she was easing us into losing her.

I had been away on a work trip during her final week, and she waited for me to return home.

Immediately upon returning, I noticed her weakness. She was dazed and had trouble walking. She had not eaten for several days. When we got her cancer diagnosis, I didn’t know how I would ever know when it was time to let her go, but she made it obvious. She gave us every sign she was ready. That clarity was a gift.

We made her an at-home euthanasia appointment on June 2, 2026, which happened to be four months to the day since she was diagnosed. Four months was the exact prognosis she was given.

We spent her final day together lying in the grass (her favorite place) and observing the world around us. We reminisced, cuddled, listened to music, and loved on her. In the early start of the day, she passed peacefully in her sleep, lying right between Elijah and me, just hours before her appointment.

Death did not steal her beauty. Her fur was still soft and silky, and her body still full and comforting. She passed looking like herself; not some frail or withered down.

She spared me the weight of euthanasia and went naturally, in the most comfortable place in our home, sandwiched between the two people who loved her most. But this was not her final gift to us.

We picked wildflowers around the neighborhood to honor what was in bloom and buried her in the yard. We picked a special spot we would walk by every day, shady and near a Rhododendron bush.

That week, we had black bears visit our yard every day. We often see bears, but every day is a rarity. She also sent a stray cat we had never seen before to visit us multiple times that week, then never again. It felt like the biggest sign that my girl was okay. That we were still connected.

Visitors from Nani

I miss her every single day, and the grief I carry honors how much I loved her.

Most recently, I was in Scotland with my three college friends and all of our partners to make a group of 8. Halfway through our visit, I took the group to a pub called The Black Cat right around the corner from our Airbnb. It was a cozy pub with live music and real candles on the tables. We walked in, and there was the perfect table for 8 right in the center of the room. We clinked and cheersed our glasses to Nani. A special tribute with my friends who had all met her and knew how special she was.

Leigh and I at The Black Cat

From that point on in our trip, we were always met with an open table. When you’re that big of a group traveling around a European city that’s tight on space, this was nothing short of a miracle.

In my family, we believe that our loved ones who have passed can send us signs and gifts from the afterlife. It was in Scotland that we deemed Nani the “Patron Saint of Open Tables.” When you need one, call upon her for help.

I love this because it keeps their memory and your connection alive, even between worlds.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading about my girl and sitting with me in this grief. My village has made me feel very supported and cared for during this time. Arthur has provided endless snuggles and shenanigans that have kept my pet-loving heart full. It feels good to continue to care for something.

Nani, I will continue to love and miss you into the next life.