First, let's just give all the fucking gratitude in the world for my meditation practice.
Seriously, thank god.
I couldn't do it yesterday, the first morning after Remo died, because I honestly didn't feel like I could leave John even for 20 quiet minutes. Not because he was broken, just because I knew waking up the first morning without that furry face was going to be the hardest.
But this morning, I came into my quiet office, 5:45AM. I had turned on all the heat and my extra little heater, it was still dark and I sat down. 20 minutes of quiet and warm, 20 minutes to drop it from my tense body and tense mind. There's just something about it, in the winter, in the warm, after my pup.
Anyway.
We've been waiting for Remo to die for 15 months.
He was supposed to be long gone, cancer, a cancer that is a killer, for most dogs when they're diagnosed, it's 18 days. Remo lived about 400 days longer than he was supposed to.
So, there's a lot of gratitude there. And those 400 days were him at full tilt, he was healthy and happy.
But the truth is, we put off a lot, we changed life plans. We settled into our apartment to take care of our pup for what we thought was weeks. Now there's a release there, a freedom that's hard to wrap my mind around. I can leave the house for the whole day, we could just take off and go somewhere, we're not tied to Chicago, to the apartment....
When something/somebody dies naturally, when they're supposed to, there's something easier about it isn't there?
Some relief.
And absolute and total loneliness.
I was expecting it. I knew it would come and I fear the worst of the dog loneliness is not past, but there's a fucking hole in this house, just exactly the shape of our 65 pound dog.
When you don't have kids, the dog becomes not your kid of course, but an equal for sure. Remo was as much a part of us as us is.
I lost my wedding ring last summer, lost it at the beach and John's wedding ring is falling off his fingers.
We have a jewelry maker friend who said he could incorporate some of Remo's ashes into new wedding rings for us.
That's usually kind of a gross thought to me, but here, in this case, I love it.
His death is a harbinger of change.
We haven't had a harbinger in a long while. As much as I'm going to miss my best friend, my greatest source of comfort and joy, there is something beautiful in harbinging.
Oh, I miss his little face. And the space between his eyes where I kiss him.
Seriously, thank god.
I couldn't do it yesterday, the first morning after Remo died, because I honestly didn't feel like I could leave John even for 20 quiet minutes. Not because he was broken, just because I knew waking up the first morning without that furry face was going to be the hardest.
But this morning, I came into my quiet office, 5:45AM. I had turned on all the heat and my extra little heater, it was still dark and I sat down. 20 minutes of quiet and warm, 20 minutes to drop it from my tense body and tense mind. There's just something about it, in the winter, in the warm, after my pup.
Anyway.
We've been waiting for Remo to die for 15 months.
He was supposed to be long gone, cancer, a cancer that is a killer, for most dogs when they're diagnosed, it's 18 days. Remo lived about 400 days longer than he was supposed to.
So, there's a lot of gratitude there. And those 400 days were him at full tilt, he was healthy and happy.
But the truth is, we put off a lot, we changed life plans. We settled into our apartment to take care of our pup for what we thought was weeks. Now there's a release there, a freedom that's hard to wrap my mind around. I can leave the house for the whole day, we could just take off and go somewhere, we're not tied to Chicago, to the apartment....
When something/somebody dies naturally, when they're supposed to, there's something easier about it isn't there?
Some relief.
And absolute and total loneliness.
I was expecting it. I knew it would come and I fear the worst of the dog loneliness is not past, but there's a fucking hole in this house, just exactly the shape of our 65 pound dog.
When you don't have kids, the dog becomes not your kid of course, but an equal for sure. Remo was as much a part of us as us is.
I lost my wedding ring last summer, lost it at the beach and John's wedding ring is falling off his fingers.
We have a jewelry maker friend who said he could incorporate some of Remo's ashes into new wedding rings for us.
That's usually kind of a gross thought to me, but here, in this case, I love it.
His death is a harbinger of change.
We haven't had a harbinger in a long while. As much as I'm going to miss my best friend, my greatest source of comfort and joy, there is something beautiful in harbinging.
Oh, I miss his little face. And the space between his eyes where I kiss him.
2 comments:
I love you so much.
xoxo
<3
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