Does it ever get easier? Loss, grief, perpetual loneliness and sadness? People tell you it gets better with time, easier with time. Those people lie.
It gets harder. Every new loss creates a bigger hole in your heart and every second is a moment of agony that you either go through in pain or deny the existence of.
What does get easier? Denial. It gets easier to pretend that person is at work or the dog is still at the vet because you have gone so long without seeing them it is not fresh in your memory. It gets easier to numb yourself to the reality of life without a person when you have all the time in the world to practice.
You don't have to believe me. Or you can roll your eyes at my pessimism. But in the past two years, I have lost six people and two dogs. None of whom were old enough to die of old age.
I feel broken and mentally drained. At the same time, I feel like I am overflowing with enough emotional turmoil to cause the next ice age.
My one-year-old Cocker Spaniel died this morning from ingesting rodenticide last weekend. He had internal bleeding that flooded his lungs and suffocated him. The Vets did everything they could, but it was too late.
I have been crying all day and don't see myself stopping anytime soon. I repeat, over and over, in my head, "He was just a baby." He will never wake me up by laying on my chest and putting his nose to mine again. He will never climb into my lap to take a nap again. I'll never see his smile or funny walk or hear him howl at the sirens that go by, even one more time.
He was a dog, not a person.
A week ago, I would have called it ridiculous to treat a dead pet as one would treat a dead family member. But Ozzy was my family. I can't picture myself as a mother. I never could. I don't know if I will ever want children. But that puppy was my baby.
If you assume that I came home from Florida because I was homesick, ask what I was homesick for: my dogs, Jack and Ozzy. I spoke to my mom several times a day. I didn't miss this house or the drama that comes with living here. I didn't miss being yelled at by grandma, fighting with Josh, or my mom's hundred-million questions. I missed the little faces that give the best eskimo kisses and bear hugs. I missed the unconditional love that comes from a loving pet.
Now I need a bear hug and my Waldo is gone. My big, goofy, dumbo-eared, ADHD clown of a dog has left this world behind.
All I can do now is believe in fairy tales. All dogs go to heaven, my baby isn't being left out.
Note: For those who don't know how my mind works: My nickname generator.
Ozzy -> Oswald -> Waldo
Also known as Oz, Boom-Boom and according to Grandma: Blacky, Edward, Henry, Arthur (insert: any King of England).
R.I.P. Ozzy
September 2, 2011 -- December 28, 2012
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