Two Weeks

In Memory of Flash: Part 5

Photo by Thomas James

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since I pet your soft, warm little head last. Two weeks since I said goodbye to the best pal I could have ever asked for, to a love I never imagined possible because — as your daddy has said — humans simply aren’t capable of that kind of love.

It’s only two weeks since my world was turned upside down. Yet it feels like years. That might sound like a good thing. Grief takes time to process, after all. If it feels longer than it’s been, surely I must be coping well, right?

Except it hurts. It hurts that I already feel so far removed from you when you’ve only been gone 14 days. I am afraid I’m going to forget too much too soon. That you’re going to feel more like an idea than a beloved member of my family who was with us for what is more than a quarter of my life.

We went away this past weekend. It was good. It reminded me I’m alive, your daddy is alive… we have to keep living, moving forward.

Except forward takes me further from the last time I hugged you, and that hurts. It hurts and it feels wrong.

I feel guilty thinking about adopting another pup. I need to, and I think if dogs could form words and tell us things you would’ve told me to adopt again. I’m glad you didn’t know you were leaving us, but I do like to think you’d want us to have…