I knew today would hurt.
I just didn’t know it would feel like this.
Empty.
That’s the only word I have for it.
I woke up this morning to silence.
For so long, mornings meant hearing Blitz before I even really opened my eyes. Especially lately. Her body would argue with her about getting up, and she would whine because she needed to go outside. There was always something. Movement. Toenails. Breathing. Complaining. The sounds of an old girl stubbornly insisting that she still had places to be.
This morning there was nothing.
And for one stupid, sleepy second, my brain expected her to be there.
Then I remembered.
She’s gone.
I keep expecting to see her in the living room. I keep looking toward the places where she should be. The house feels wrong without her in it, like somebody removed something structural and somehow everything is still standing.
Even the cats are looking for her.
I don’t know how to explain to them that the girl they’ve known as part of their world isn’t here anymore. I can barely explain it to myself.
Yesterday, Blitz died with her head in my lap.
And right now, that is all I can see.
I know there were nearly sixteen years before that moment. There were walks and adventures and laughter and shoes brought, music howled to, and naps and treats and thousands upon thousands of ordinary days that I would give absolutely anything to have back right now.
I know that.
But grief apparently doesn’t give a shit what you know.
Right now, when I close my eyes, I see her head in my lap.
I see the candle that burned for her all night.
I look at the shadow box I made for her, and instead of feeling comforted that I have pieces of her safely preserved there, my heart just screams that I want the whole dog back.
I want my girl.
Today I’m sitting at my desk in my home office at work, staring at things I am supposed to care about and discovering that my brain simply cannot make them matter.
I have students depending on me.
And I love them. I have a responsibility to them, and I am going to do the very best I can today because that is what I do.
But God, I don’t want to.
I want to go back to bed.
I want to crawl underneath my covers, pull them over my head and sleep until maybe waking up doesn’t hurt quite this badly.
And if I could choose what I dreamed about, I would dream about Blitz.
Not old Blitz.
Not the body that had begun betraying her.
My Blitz.
Strong legs. Bright eyes. Running like hell because she can. Playing. Exploring. Probably getting into something she has absolutely no business getting into.
And maybe somewhere in that dream, she finds my Mimi.
My soulmate before Blitz ever came into my life was my grandmother. I loved her so deeply that when my granddaughter was born, I chose the name Mimi for myself in her honor. Someday that beautiful little girl is going to look at me and call me Mimi, and a piece of my grandmother will live in that word again.
So maybe my Mimi has Blitz now.
I like to imagine her seeing my girl coming and saying, Well, there you are. I’ve been expecting you.
Maybe Blitz has already figured out that her legs work again.
Maybe she’s running.
God, I hope she’s running.
Before Blitz passed, my mom sent us a beautiful prayer. We read it to her before we said goodbye.
There was something sacred about that moment, even though it shattered me.
She was surrounded by love.
She heard our voices.
And when she left this world, her head was in my lap.
Maybe someday that memory will become something precious to me.
Today it just hurts.
Today I am not ready to be grateful for the beautiful goodbye.
Today I am the person left behind.
And I keep asking God the same questions over and over:
When does it stop hurting?
When do I stop expecting to see her?
When does the silence stop sounding so fucking loud?
When will I be able to look at her shadow box without feeling like my chest is being ripped open?
When will I feel okay again?
I don’t need to be happy today.
I don’t even need to be strong.
I just need to make it through today.
Maybe that’s all grief asks of us at first.
One hour.
Then another.
Answer the question in front of me. Help the student who needs me. Take a drink of water. Survive another quiet room. Light her candle again.
And eventually go to sleep.
Maybe tonight I’ll dream about her.
And if there is any kindness in the universe, I won’t dream about yesterday.
I’ll dream about that girl in this photograph.
My beautiful Blitz beside me, walking along the water beneath a sky on fire.
Except this time, I’ll take off the leash.
Run, baby girl.
You don’t need it anymore.
✦ enjoyed this entry?