Down the Rabbit Hole

Still the hurting

Last night I strong-armed my daughter through her shower a full hour behind schedule. She was uncooperative and wholly unappreciative of the fact that we were running pretty late with our preparations for bedtime.

It had been a lovely day lorded over by a cloudless blue sky. We had lingered on the porch until dusk, taking in the first really perfect day in about two months, hoping in our hearts that weather was a hint of things finally to come. It was nice and also bittersweet because we were missing someone important, someone for who those nights of relaxation together on the porch were some of his very favorite times. Ricky would have parked his big body on the loveseat out there next to us, he would have been as content as we felt watching the evening dim down around us.

Jaden stomped into her room, ensconced in a yellow towel, her wet hair plastered to her forehead. She was sullen and I knew a tantrum loomed dangerously close. Then, she surprised me. "Mommy, I miss Ricky", and she looked up at me with those sea-change eyes brimming with tears. Immediately, I dropped and pulled her in tightly, my throat constricting with my own grief. "I know Honey. I miss him too." I had felt Ricky absence so acutely myself only a few hours ago.

Then, we talked about doggy heaven and how he wasn't sick anymore and he was happy and that while we miss him, he was in a better place. She said she didn't really remember what he looked like and she wanted me to describe him for her. I did, as tears rolled down my cheeks and I watch her nod with agreement as I ticked off all his best features on my fingers. Within a few minutes, she had moved past the moment, her active mind taking her to another distraction. I was left feeling the residual affects of remembering the loss. I am still struck by how strongly I grieve for our dog, how much I wish will all my heart that we could have saved him. In six years, he became such a part of our family that he is missed, even in our most quiet moments. I've yet to bake the paw print impressions they made us, I've no idea why. Its like I'm avoiding the act for some reason, as if I'm afraid of its finality in some strange way even though I know he's gone.