Breathing

Some time ago a friend passed on the thought that we hold grief in our lungs. At the time, this seemed like a right and interesting idea. This week, I've begun to agree even more thoroughly.

People keep asking me how Simon is doing.... A childish part of me wants to say: "How do you think?" but I stick with the grown up truth. As I said to a friend yesterday, "He gets a little farther away from us every day."

And I can feel it in my lungs; I can't breathe deeply or let it all out. It's all clenched up inside like a sickness. I keep coughing, hoping it will let go of me - it hasn't helped.

Simon, the Fantastic Four Legged Mutt; cheers to you, my friend.

It has come again, a beginning to an end, and I must say goodbye. I do not know how.

I've left many things and people behind in my quest for growth and maturity. Looking around, I am forced to realize how much I've carried forward with me. Some things have been so constant in this mixed up world. One of those constant forces is Simon the dog.

Not just a dog, but a companion. He who is happy to see me when I come home, who misses me when I am gone, who settles for a good ear rub late at night. Simon, who wants nothing much more, who doesn't judge or hold a grudge.

And he is dieing.

Stupid cancer, again, reaching in and taking a constant force in my life and morphing it into a source of pain. He's not just a dog, and he hasn't had a "long" life at 10 years, and I'm not ready to move forward without him. But once again, I don't seem to have much choice.

Now, most days I come home, heart in my throat as I unlock the door, afraid that he has left me while I was away.

He's a good dog. He was fearfully ill as a puppy, got hit by a car on a sunny afternoon, and late one night stayed in the woods for nearly 30 frantic minutes looking for his ball.

He loved me when I hated myself.

My soul despairs for this loss.