a squirrel

three months


it's quite amazing how many things can trigger a memory.
from a small thing to the quite obvious to the insignificant.  you never even realized that the thing that is gone is even associated with what causes you to remember its absence.

everyday
when i wake up, she's not there next to the bed waiting for me to let her out and give her breakfast.
she's not there waiting for scraps as I cook and then eat breakfast.
and then lunch.
she isn't waiting outside the bathroom when I get out of the shower.
doesn't walk with me to the mailbox.
isn't antsy, waiting to go for a walk in the afternoon.
when I work in my studio,  she's not sleeping nearby.

I still glance periodically at the back door, looking for her face, waiting to be let back in.
when I go into the backyard she's not there.
she's not in the house when I come home.  doesn't run from wherever she is to greet me.
not there when I cook dinner, waiting to catch every little scrap.

when I'm upset or have a bad day, she's not there to comfort me.
she was very comforting and sweet when I was upset.  just hovered nearby or nestled in close.
she didn't ask why, only listened if you told her, never offering advice. never judging.
but she always knew when you needed the comfort. the shoulder to cry on.
that's what i miss most.  I need the comfort that only she can give.
she was the best at making you feel so loved and comforted when you were sad or upset.
but she's not here to comfort me in my saddest days.   it's irony in its most painful form.


believe it or not she would dance with me.
not in the sense like a high school dance or a wedding or anything,
but the dance alone in your house dancing.
she was that supportive friend nearby.  choosing not to dance herself but
appreciated your dancing.  living vicariously.
though sometimes, if she was feeling particularly jubilant, she would jump up and down a little, doing the same happy dance she would do when I came home after being gone all day.
and that was enough.  enough to know she was with me in spirit.


god.  dropping things on the floor is the major trigger.
every. single. time.
every time I drop something I'm reminded of the fact that she's not there to eat it or to run over and investigate if it's edible.
are you aware of how many times a day you drop things on the floor?


lately, I've been thinking about what I would do if I had another day with her.
what I would give for just one day.
a one day vacation from my life without poppy.  a respite to be filled with a poppy experience.
i'm in the bargaining stage i think.


yesterday, I remembered something.
a little less than a week before she died, I took her out into the backyard and both of us watched this squirrel not too far from us.
we both just stood there watching it.
both of us wanting her to go for it.
both of us knowing she wouldn't.  and that she couldn't.
and what was weird was she turned and looked at me and we held eye contact for a few moments and I knew.
I knew it wouldn't be much longer.