It is cool outside, around 65 degrees.
The wind is blowing the tree branches on the patio. I watch them dip and dance from my spot here on the couch. Charlie of course is right beside me.
Tomorrow marks four months since Abi died.
I think back on her funny antics. I remember them, but I can’t see them quite as clearly. The image is not as vibrant.
I suppose this is what time does to keep us from throwing ourselves off a bridge. The memories flicker and dim, but are still there.
My heart was broken into a million pieces. And like Humpty Dumpty, I didn’t think I could ever be put back together again. There will always be a piece that is missing.
Her name was Abigail Rose.
The sharp knife that plunged into me the day she died is dulled just a little by all the days that have passed since.
The other night when I was on the phone talking about Charlie to Dr. Poteet, I said, my voice cracking: “My little dogs have meant the world to me.”
And he said: “I imagine about as much as all my little dogs have meant to me.”
That gave me pause. Of course. Grief is universal. It doesn’t belong solely to me, or to you or anyone else.
Anyone who has loved has lost.
I could not have loved her more.
She captured my heart from the beginning and it was tethered to her throughout the rest of her life.
My sweet baby girl. What I would give to have you back for just a little while longer.
Those first days and weeks, I sat with my sorrow. I held grief in the palm of my hand. I didn’t know what to do with it. I wanted to throw it away, but it clung to me.
It worked itself inside me and then became part of me.
I cried until I thought I would float away in a sea of sadness. I wept deep gut-wrenching tears that emptied the ache of my sadness only briefly.
Until the tears came again.
How you go through the phases of grief is different for everyone.
I created a Pinterest board of grief quotes. Somehow, knowing someone else had the same feelings of loss I felt gave me a bit of peace.
A whole community of sorrow I could visit and see that they did in fact survive it. And live to tell the tale.
I know some of you are grieving over losses too. You email me and we chat back and forth, letting a little of it out. Making the load less heavy.
Which makes me think about that old song “Lean On Me.”
Sometimes we just have to lean on someone else for awhile till we feel strong enough to stand on our own.
In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing. ~ Robert Ingersoll