4/17/2015

I miss my dog

I'm sad without my dog. That's the only way to really describe it. I'm not depressed. I'm not despondent. I'm just sad. I'm melancholy.
I know that, with time, my sadness will ease, but right now it feels like a defining characteristic. "My name is Megan," I want to say, "and I am sad."
I know that I am lucky - that most things in my life are running so smoothly that the death of my relatively old dog is the biggest emotional trauma I have to deal with - but my heart is still having a hard time rationalizing that. I don't want my dog to be dead. I want him to be sleeping on his bed, or in front of the toilet, or on the couch (even though he's not supposed to be on the couch). I want another chance to make up for all the times I short changed him on his evening walks or the days I thought, "I should take you to the park," but never did.
Every so often, I would lay down on the floor with him. I'd place my hand on his side and scrunch my eyes closed, as tightly as I could. I'd concentrate on all the love I felt inside for him and do my best to pass it along through my arm, out through my hand and into his body. I didn't hold much weight in it actually working, but what did it hurt? I don't think my dog ever had a particularly impressive grasp of the English language either, but that never stopped me from talking to him.

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