The first few weeks of this ordeal were tortuous. I haven't cried that much in many years, and never so often, day in and day out. I pray for God to bless our search every day, and for His care of Gimli if he's roaming somewhere, and to send him home soon if he's still alive. I pray for peace and for trust in God's promise to "ask and ye shall receive", and most of the time I'm on an even keel. Sometimes the grief sneaks up on me, though, and I'm a wreck all over again. I still trust God and His promises. I believe in miracles, and I believe I could see Gimli crash through the cat door any time, but I'm fallible and foolish and sometimes I feel like I'm just suppressing the grief instead of giving it to God.
Tonight it welled up and choked me when I was showing our new rescue cat, Sam, how to play with a paper bag. I miss my baby boy. I haven't had such a close relationship with a cat since my first; a Siamese named Isis who went everywhere with me when I was in my late teens and early twenties.
Some of you will roll your eyes and wish folks like me wouldn't be such idiots about mere "animals", some of you will be sympathetic, and some of you will feel the pain because you've been there and you understand.
