Tumbleweed in My Heart

We are....adjusting.  We went home to be with family over Easter.  When we came back, we began the long, slow, sad adjusting to no more wagging tails, no shuddering happy sighs, no clack-clack of too long nails on Pergo.

At first, I thought all other dogs would be a comfort to me; that I would relish in their warm fur and remember.  Instead, all other dogs (mostly) repulse me.  I feel betrayed.  There is no comfort there because she was more than just warm fur.  She was Scout, with a unique personality.  And she is gone.

The other day driving home from work, I turned to check traffic and the pointillism of nose prints on my passenger windows caught the sunlight.  Suddenly, I saw the long stretch of my life before me:  she is no where in it anymore and I have a sh*t load more years to go by myself, now.  It is overwhelming.

Ah, so this is Grief.  Hi.  I've been expecting you.

"Grief" by Gene Gould