A loud void

I had a bad night recently.

As you'd expect, tears came less frequently. I had to concentrate on Tamale and how much I missed her in order to become weepy. Nights were hard, but usually only after everyone else was asleep. Two days ago, I felt as low as I did in the days immediately following her death. I cried as though I just lost her again.

It was the day her ashes came home.

I was spared at first. Matsie, her foster dad, came by just as I was receiving her box. With him around, I could talk about Tamale. My eyes would sting, but I could keep it together. Well, not too together. I forgot to offer him beer. I did offer him a red velvet cupcake a friend had made. Who knew that men would also want a beer. Thank dog my husband came home.

I thought I was okay.

Then I was alone with the ashes. How could something so big in my heart and my life be reduced to just bits of bone? Tamale was going to live to 13 at least. I was going to get sad when she couldn't zoom like she used to. I was going to watch her black face get grayer with age. She was going to be there when Omo died.

But she's in a box by my bed. They shaved some of her hair and it's in a little bag clipped to my bedside lamp. Quiet memorials for a loud personality.

I know she's gone every day. She and Omo were tight but polar opposites. He stayed clean; she was a ratbag. He rarely farted; she rarely didn't. When I made their dinners, she went outside to wait, he sat next to me and followed me out. She came to sleep in our room in the middle of the night; he stayed all night in his bed in the living room. She was a night owl; he loved the mornings. She spun in circles at the beach; he lay down and let the waves wash over him. She curled her head down when hugged; he rested his head on your shoulders. He was limpy; she was spritely.

He was going to die young; she would live to be old and batty.

I wasn't the only one to miss her.

Omo slowed down. He didn't cause me to worry, but we all know that if your joints are funny, it can be a use-it-or-lose-it situation. Tamale made him play. Tamale was wild, and conservative Omo had to rein her in. Tamale showed her appreciation for his keeping her out of Canine Reform School for Wayward Dogs by grooming him. They were different, but they were tight.

And he had no BFF to confide in. All he had was this sad sack of a human, whose grief made her mopey and overly huggy.

Tamale left a loud void, which needed to be filled. Omo needed a new friend. Sad Sack needed a distraction.

"I eat grief for breakfast."

Comments

[Alex]

Hello!
I love you! Won't you tell me your name?

[gyeong]

We still have Lucas' ashes in the container that it came in. Still looking for the perfect urn, I guess. Stanley will never replace Lucas, but he did help the healing process the moment he arrived.

[Lisa]

When I kiss my dogs, my chin fits right in that gap above their eyes, and I smell that flat spot on top of their heads as I kiss them. That little beauty has a head made for smooching!!!!!
Well done to you (as I assume he/she will be staying at yours for a while....???) xxxx

[Trina]

more info, please??