A quiet night

It’s a quiet night here on the porch. The sun will soon set (noticeably earlier every night now), and the birds are taking a last few nibbles. 

Max is gone now. The treatment we hoped would work was not a success, and after hours of seeing his kidney values go in the wrong direction, we agreed with the vet that it was time to let him go. 

It’s brutal. If you’re a pet lover, you know how bad it is. The grief just bursts you open. Breaks you. When I sit at my desk, the nearby armchair is empty now, for the first time in 14 years. It’s about all I can stand. 

Grief is hard. Relentless, for a while. Grief reminds you of every loss you’ve ever endured. Other pets. Humans you also loved. The people affected (or killed) by Covid-19. Grief breaks all that open again. It’s a bad feeling, to say the least. 

And yet. 

Every loss, every breaking-open, presents a growing edge. Maybe we become more sensitive to others in their own grief. Maybe we are able to help.  We mourn, we heal, we move on. It’s what humans do. 

We know loving has hurt us, but, in time, we do it all over again. 

Rest in peace, my sweet boy. I’ll see you again. 


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