Well, not the you that I want to be home. But the you I’m allowed to have.
I still don’t believe yet that there was a purpose to your death. But if there was, I’d think it’s all the love you’ve inspired. A lot of people have told me how you’ve influenced them, before and after your passing. Seems your quiet grace was more noticed than I realized.
I’ve also heard from some people that my words were scaring them, that they were extra worried about me. It’s great to know that people care. But you know that for as dark as my existence is without you right now, as badly as I want to see you again, I still want to be here and the grief will change with time. There are still a lot of things I want to see and do, things we were going to do together and we will. I’ll carry you with me.
I said I was never much of a writer but for some reason I need to write to you. I’ve always been one to bottle it in, pretend I’m fine, squash the emotion and let it rot inside me. But you don’t deserve that. You deserve for me to scream my pain from the mountains. If only for us.
You were so much more than this little box I’m left with.
You were mornings watching those bunnies. Afternoon naps and evening cuddles. You were agility in the sunset. Races around the fence for the sheer joy of running. You were early mornings when I was the only one who got up, you knew it was agility time. You were rough wrestling and chase games with Chandra, who could handle it, and quiet games with Jake, who couldn’t. Knowing far more than it seemed a dog should know. You were trying again, just one more time. You were quiet touches and speaking with your eyes. You were walks on forest trails and swims in mountain lakes. You were that connection, that orbit we traveled around each other.
You were bravery in the face of your fears.
And you helped me be that too.