Sunday, March 20, 2016
2. Sleep with the windows open
3. Clean and fill the birdfeeder
4. Walk on the beach
5. Pack away coats and electric blanket
6. Buy a new piece of summer clothing
7. Send happy mail to Alabama
8. Drive with the windows down
9. Get a pedicure
10. Drink iced coffee
11. Buy a tomato plant
12. Buy fresh flowers
13. Take the triplets on a picnic
14. Write thank-you notes to my coaches
15. Make a new curtain for my bed
16. Celebrate Star Wars Day
17. Put the awning up
18. Take Abigail for ice cream
19. Watch a sunset
20. Buy an essential oils diffuser
Monday, March 14, 2016
Saturday, March 12, 2016
Wednesday, March 9, 2016
You feel you'll perish long before it arrives
there it is at last!
Suddenly, everything resolves,
like the denouement of a good novel
and you're left to contemplate
what you might have done differently
except that you never dreamed Spring was so near,
redemption so close.
Friday, March 4, 2016
It'll be two weeks tomorrow since Oliver passed, two weeks on Tuesday since Zinnia died.
And I'm been surprised - really surprised, actually - at how sad I still am.
Actually, I'm more surprised at the sense of loss that keeps hitting me at odd times, and how fresh it feels - the intense longing for the sensory experience of them. I'll be driving down the road when I suddenly miss watching Zinnia hop across the carpet, miss feeling her tail wrapped around my finger. I want to be able to sit next to Oliver one last time and bury my fingers in his thick fur. I miss his tilted head and I miss his earthy dog smell.
It seems silly that I still find myself crying suddenly at inopportune times, hissing "Get a grip!" to myself in the car while I frantically scrub tears off my face so I can go nanny or coach or not look like a lunatic at the bank.
I'm glad they're at peace. I am. They were both miserable and now they're not and there's relief in that. But I would give up a lot just to have ten minutes with them, to be able to touch, feel, and smell them again.