Tonight will mark one year since I last held you. One year since I fed you part of my turkey sandwich and half of my baby carrots. It’s been a year and the pain does not lessen. It’s been a year and all I want is for you to come back to me.
I love telling people your stories. I love telling them how awesome and charming you were. How I could deny you nothing, how you draped across my lap as I crocheted, how happy you were. You didn’t think you were a person, you knew you were a dog and you absolutely loved being a dog. You loved the dog park, you loved belly rubs and hiking and sitting up for treats. Everyone loved you when they met you.
You were my child. Those with children might take offense at that, but it is the only way I can describe how I felt about you. I loved you unconditionally, I was so proud of everything you did. I talked about you incessantly and displayed your photos everywhere. Your absence is not just a void, but a wound dug from my chest and left gaping and unhealed.
I still forget you are not here. Sometimes I leave work and imagine you waiting for me. They only last a second or so, but every realization is like a kick in the gut.
Levi created a beautiful box in which to place your ashes, stinky dinosaurs and collars. Today, one year after you gasped and grew cold in my arms, I will place you in this box. A photo of you, one of you bounding joyously across the dog park with the sun shining on you will be in the frame on the outside of the box. It is you at your happiest and exactly how I want to remember you.
I love you my little fella, my Mofungus T. Humongous, my Crocodile Bob
My Ghengis.
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