I've cried gallons of tears over him since then, and I know I'm good to cry gallons more. I wish I had a cure for heartbreak.
We still see Cooper everywhere. My heart sinks when I make the curve in our driveway and I don't see his smiling face in the patio door, waiting deliriously for our arrival, his tail quivering with excitement. I still check my watch at 4:30, and think it's food time. Our friends still come in the house, and ask, "Where's...?", their voices trailing off.
We know just how they feel.
His bed is still upstairs, and his collar still hangs at the door. I jiggle it from time to time, as if doing so might conjure him up.
The first night after he died, I dreamed about him, and that he was still with us, but in a parallel, invisible universe. I dreamed I could see a faint outline of him if I concentrated hard enough, sort of like a holograph, but he was there and always would be.
I sleep with his favorite stuffed toy, the same toy he brought me mere hours before he died, leaning in towards me like he always did when he wanted attention. There are nights where I admit that I clutch it more furtively than others.
We sometimes laugh as we recount and remember things he did. Sometimes we wipe a discreet tear out of the corner of our eye. Other times, particularly right now, the tears come fast and furious, and my breath comes in gulps. The pain in my chest is more real than I care to admit.
I try and sit still with the pain, trying to make sense of the senseless. It's a futile attempt, of this I know. All I can do is give thanks for the still December morning he came into our lives. I simply could have driven by him, and life would have been very, very different.
Cooper was the glue that bound everything together, and I'm trying hard to find a way to hold it together without him.
If people are the heart of a home, a dog is most definitely the soul.
4 comments:
Oh this post is hard to read. But it truly does put that hertbreak into words. It's been almost two years since I lost my Sienna and I still break down sometimes. It's much better though. And I think the more time passes the good memories seem even better. Seeing Barbie running around as a crazy little puppy reminds me of the great times with Sienna. It's a cycle, life with dogs. Very touching post. I know the heartache and I'm sending happy, healing thoughts.
Hi Stephen, thanks for your thoughts, Eric and I both really appreciate them. Last night I dreamed about Cooper, and he was helping us choose between two black Lab puppies! We want a mutt again (preferably another Border Collie/Lab mix) and trawl Petfinder and local rescue societies, but nothing's come up yet. We're not in a hurry though.
I'm sure when the time is right, we'll find another great dog. But the bar is high - Cooper left some mighty big paw-prints to fill.
Again, thanks for your thoughts. Every little bit does help.
I had a cat like that once. He died a little before my grandma died and I always felt bad that I cried more for the cat then my gma. I guess I shouldn't feel guilty now as I think about her more and can't remember my cat as much. That was almost 20 years ago though. It's amazing how attached you get when you find that one special pet.
I'm sorry you are still having a hard time with Copper gone. I want to say it will get easier but it will just take a lot of time. Hopefully you will be able to find another dog that is just as special as Copper was.
Hey Robin, every day does get better, but man, do we ever still miss him. Whenever I find a cute dog on Petfinder and show him to Eric, he always says he's not as cute or nice or whatever as Cooper was. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that we'll get a great dog soon. Thanks for your thoughts, it really does help knowing that others experience the same things.
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