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Learning to Walk Alone
Seeing a squirrel feel safe enough to come up on my deck made me cry.
One of my friends’ mom died the other day. Another lost her 50-year-old husband to cancer last year. My parents have been gone for years. It can be sad getting to that age where loss of loved ones becomes more common. It also seems like the older you get and the more loss you see, death seems a little less scary, because a part of your heart has already gone.
Every day I remind myself how lucky I am to have made it this far without having lost young relatives or close friends. I’m grateful that my child is healthy and so are my brothers and sisters. I appreciate having been able to be a pet parent, one at a time, two dogs with about five years in between.
My sweet, faithful dog took his last breath the Friday afternoon before Memorial Day. He was our baby and spent close to a quarter of my life with me after joining our two-person family when my child was in middle school.
I’d rather be sweeping up thick black winter dog fur on stuff in my house, which used to blow off in tufts all summer before growing back thick and curly in the fall. Now, right at the beginning of fur-flying season, the places where he spent the most time are tidy and fur-free. I don’t like it.
It’s harder than it used to be to be outside. My buddy spent most of his nights and parts of his days inside but loved the outdoors and was rarely in the house for long when it wasn’t raining or gloomy. He loved laying out in all seasons, soaking the sun into his black fur when it was sunny and alternating between sun and shady areas in warm weather.
(Tug in backyard, photo by author)
I miss hearing the “thunk” as he plopped down above me on the deck or kitchen floor as I work in my basement office. I was hoping, up until that last day, to spend at least one more summer together. He died while I was petting him and waiting until time to syringe another dose appetite stimulant into his mouth.
