I Thought We Had More Time

There is a screaming in my head that won't stop. "I thought we had more time." It flaps and flutters round and round, like a bird trapped in a room banging against walls and windows until it collapses exhausted in a trembling heap. 

Sometimes life comes at you hard.  Friends die. Children get sick. Teenagers crash their car in the night. There are work deadlines, school deadlines, house chores. Someone always demanding just a little bit more. Stretching you to your limit. Move faster. Do more.  And then a kitten dies.  

Sometimes, for no good reason, a kitten dies. Or a friend. Or a child. Or a spouse. Sometimes, life ends when you don't want it to, when you weren't ready. And the screaming in my head says "but I thought we had more time." 

A tiny kitten, that is soft and rumbles when you pet it, that doesn't feel like death, like endings. It feels like love.  It feels like hope. You stand, there while the vet says "sometimes this happens, for no reason." Followed by "there's nothing more we can do." Then you hold a warm, soft, purring body, while also holding your crying daughter and the screaming beats inside my head "but I thought we had more time."

You go about your day. You do the right thing. You plaster a smile on your face. Check the boxes. Meet the deadlines. Cook the dinner. Here, there and everywhere. Everyone taking their little piece of me. 

Inside my head, the screams don't stop, fluttering and banging, round and round. Until I collapse in a trembling heap, exhausted. I hold a purring kitten while tears roll down my face. 

"I thought we had more time!"