So so hard to do some days.
I first read the Robert Frost poem in grade nine English and it struck me then. Deeply, profoundly. This was an essential truth. Without turning back to life, even in grief, nothing would make sense. I attended an all girls school and I doubt many of my classmates had seen a chainsaw let alone used one. I had. The image of the boys rueful laugh as he turned is seared into my brain as if I was there. This single line has given me the strength to get up out of bed on days of great grief since I first read it.
Usually around here the animals are quick to turn to normal life. This time is a little different. Sally, and Yen, are mourning in a way I have only seen mother animals before. It’s visceral and concrete, and oh so touching. They are looking for Wyn, longing for him even. They lost a great friend, an entertainment unit and a snuggle buddy. Brody is quite fine with the vanishing act, as are the cats.
Big T and I keep tearing up, looking for him, calling him by mistake, I can’t bear to take down his leash and scenting harness.
He was a typical puppy in so many ways and something really special too (I hope you all feel that way about your puppies, and dogs). I’m still sad for us and so sad for him. Life was so much fun in his world.