There is the older man who I always see on my walks around Brookline. His constant companion is this beautiful Husky, and she HOWLS for him when he has to leave her outside while he pops into 802 Coffee because the owner is an asshole who doesn’t allow dogs inside (all previous owners did).

The day after Drew died, I saw him on the Boulevard. She wasn’t with him.

I haven’t seen him at all since then.

Yesterday, Henry brought Drew’s ashes home. A brand new wave of grief crashed into me. I am so glad to have her back here, but oh my fucking god. Oh my fucking god. I hate this, I hate everything.

I’m having a hard time finding a therapist.

I’m having a hard time in general.

Margie sent me an article the other day, written by a veterinarian, about how society needs to take pet loss grief more seriously. We get bereavement time at work when immediate family dies. People are kind and gentle and don’t expect, one or two days later, for us to be “over it.” Well, pets are immediate family. This is the hardest mourned someone since my Pappap died in 1996. Every time I start to feel “stupid” about it, I have to check myself. I don’t give a shit anymore who thinks this is dumb or trivial. I just don’t. I know how I feel and if someone asks me “Hey how are you?” I’m going to be honest with my reply because I am not going to minimize my feelings. If someone is uncomfortable with that, then I don’t know what to say because this is real life and I can’t fake it anymore.

I know deep in my heart that I won’t feel this way forever. I am trying to get to the other side, but I also don’t want to push myself because I can tell you that I was not allowed the time and space to properly grieve my Pappap when I was 16. I carried that grief and trauma with me into adulthood. I know there are lessons here and I appreciate that, but I cannot care about that right now until I deal with my feelings.

Every day, I sit here and scroll through pictures of her, not understanding how this could have happened.

My friend Amber (the OG Amber!) wrote in a card that Marcy is taking care of Drew now and that made me cry but also, I felt comforted at that idea.

And my friend Lyda sent me a care package that included a little moveable cat that her son made on his 3D printer. That also made me cry, but in a good way.

This house just feels so empty. How could such a small being take up so much space? God, she was just so fucking special to our family.

She was perfect.

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