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.