I don't have the heart or energy to post about Days of Christmas right now. I'll do a recap in a few days.
Losing Jack has really hit me hard. But it has also caused me to treat our remaining animals better, so there is a hidden blessing even in tragedy.
Everywhere I turn, my little dog isn't there. He slept curled against my legs at night and I think it is there that I miss him the most.
His "remains" (how I detest that word) are waiting for us at the vet. I don't have the heart or energy to pick those up either.
I know that this is still a fresh wound, but I am already impatient with myself in this grief. I have felt the loss of a human at Christmastime (Gummy Bear in 2006). I realize that compared to what others are grappling with right now, this loss is so minor. So I try to buck up and move on. Sometimes, that is easier to do.
His collar is still in the basket in the front hall. I see it every time I leash Rocky to take him for a walk. I should probably put it away, but for some reason, I can't. I did vacuum up some fur that I knew was his. The finality of that action made me stand still and cry.
I did put his food dish away, but the empty place where it sat on the kitchen floor nags me. It just seems like the house is much more empty than usual all around.
I still "see" him, in the shadows of Will's bedroom, where he used to patiently wait for me to "rock rock" Will to sleep. I still "see" him on the rug, where he used to lie, waiting for me to get out of the shower. I still "see" him at the back door, when I just let the dogs out. I still "see" him many places, but he isn't really there. The permanence of loss is much harder to see.
I know there are greater and deeper losses than the loss of a pet. I know that. But it still hurts.