Tag: grief

2023: The Year of Grief

I lost my best friend in February. I found out she was sick in January and was told she would survive for a few more years if I put her on a special diet. No cause for alarm. Everything would be fine.

            Not even a month later she died in my arms.

I could save her – potentially – if I had 4000 dollars and a car to drive 3 hours away to a vet who would keep her for ten days. Maybe that will work.

            Just maybe she’ll live.

            It’s her best shot.

            The only thing echoing in my head: “I don’t want her to die alone.”

(more…)

Grief

I was born with a dark twin

Similarly unwanted, but relied on.

They were a small, black mutt

With wiry black fur, oversized ears,

And large dark eyes.

Born together and bonded together.

This being became my trusted companion

Shield me, drove me, broke me

I ignored it

I hated it

I dismissed it.

But it was always there

Patiently following me wherever I went.

Growing in size and power

Until I could no longer ignore it.

Until I heard its loud breathing

And disgruntled growls and roars.

Until I heard the heavy thuds

Of its paws 

as it trailed behind me.

Until I felt its wiry fur as it slept beside me.

As I saw its dark form

At the foot of my bed,

In the corner of my office,

Sleeping at my feet while I wrote,

Cuddling next to me on the couch,

Eating my scraps as I cooked.

Patient, protective, heartbroken.

I sit cross legged on my bed

The beast sitting on all fours in front of me.

Our eyes locked

Our breathes uneven,

And I tentatively reach out

And stroke its dark fur

And it rests its big cheeks

In the palm of my hand

And I cry as the beast unfurls 

And lies down, resting its head in my lap

And I stroke its fur.