by Carol Wilson
One of my saddest memories happened recently, August 26, 1996. I had left early for work and had arrived by 7:00 am. At around 7:40 am I checked my voice mail to find a message from my husband to call him immediately. I knew that something was wrong. When I reached him, my first words were "What's wrong?" "It's bad", he said. "How bad?", I said. "Real bad.", he said. My thoughts quickly wandered. What could it be? I was afraid to ask. Strange thoughts popped into my mind. Had the house been broken into? Did he get into an accident? Was the car totaled? All these thoughts were good compared to the news he gave me. I will never, as long as I live, forget his exact words. The conversation went like this: "Carol, Emma's dead." (Emma was our beautiful 4 1/2 year old cat. We have no children except our three [I mean now 2] animals.) I said, "What are you talking about? What do you mean?" "She's dead Carol", is all he could say. My heart raced as the tears started to flow. I just kept saying "No, she can't be!" I left work immediately and raced home, all the way telling myself that he's mistaken. There was no way that my Emma could be dead. By the time I had gotten home, he had already dug her grave in the back yard. I ran in back only to see him there, Emma lying next to the hole, her collar already removed. I scooped her up in my arms. She was still warm. I held her to my chest, tears streaming down my face and falling on her. He tried to take her from me to place her in her final resting place, but I refused. This was my child. The first time I had ever lost one (as an adult). My heart was breaking. He finally convinced me to let her go. He, ever so carefully, put her into the ground and covered her. My heart was now in pieces. My Emma was gone.