Being alive means feeling pain. Both emotional and physical pain are going to happen, and as we mature we learn this.
Last night was a tough one for me, and this morning isn’t any better. This is my first morning without my Sadie dog. My baby dog. My special, precious girl.
As Hannah dog and I went through our routines last night and this morning it made me more sad to see her confusion that Sadie wasn’t there with her. To watch Hannah peek behind doors and into other rooms, scout the back yard, and to see her pace back and forth between her usual spot to lay down before a feeding and the spot where Sadie usually lay makes my heart ache even more.
It started storming this morning for a bit. There was rain, thunder, and lightening. Hannah dog doesn’t like any of that and she started quivering and quaking immediately. Luckily I have doggie Xanax for her and the storm passed quickly, so she’s calmer now.
In the last 12 hours, Hannah and I both have had our little doses of Xanax then. I decided to take some last night around 8:30 and just lay in bed until it sent me into a deep sleep for several hours. B was here with me again, but I was too sad to fall asleep unaided. I woke at 1:30 AM, restless, sad, and tearful. I got up and took half of another Xanax, then went back to a fitful sleep until the alarm prompted me out of bed.
It’s hard to work today, but I’m hoping that I can get myself engaged enough that I can stop thinking about how much I miss Sadie. For now, I’m leaving her leash and collar still hanging on the hook near the door and her bowls still sitting on her feeding mat. Hannah will have all the toys and bones to herself, although I’m not sure how interested she’ll be in them when there’s no competition driving her to tease and flaunt them.
A little over a year ago when I was grieving my failed marriage, a friend gave me a poem by Mary Oliver that I’ve been thinking about today. I’ve written about it before, noting that I kept it near my bed. I continued to do that for a long time, then one day I spilled a glass of water and nearly obliterated the writing. I still saved it, but I can’t seem to locate it right now. I’m glad I could locate the post I wrote in which I quoted it because it bears repeating today.
The Uses of Sorrow
(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.
I miss her, I miss her, I miss her.