I'm not crying as much as I ever have, but that's because I'm alone. Anytime I verbalize anything about it or just talk- I choke up, uncontrollably.Waking up in my bed is not fun either. I used to always do it looking for Sparky. Sometimes if he just entered the room and saw that I was awake he would wag his tail and look at me all happy and jump on the bed. I won't be able to see that happy face anymore. My sunshine is gone.
Breaking the dog bones in the morning, and only giving away one half instead of both...it is my constant reminder of his absence.
Never being able to see him again is horrid- when I thought the last moments would be enough...nothing is enough.
Home is not my home anymore.
It is just not the same.
I just want to be listened to. I don't want to hear stories. I don't want to pretend to care, pretend to listen. It's too fucking hard. I just want to share the memoirs of Sparky. I want the world, my world, to know of his awesomeness. To know what we had together.
I got so used to sleeping with Sparky that anytime I shared a bed with anyone else, at the first instance that I felt movement on the bed, I would always think it was Sparky. Now, as I lay here on my bed, reading, I keep having this expectation of movement on my bed. I keep waiting for it. Keep waiting for him to come to me and lick my tears away.
I wish, like in the movie Perfume, that I had preserved his smell. Instead I squeeze my pillows helplessly searching for that smell and sobbing into them.
The Lovely Bones mentions dogs a lot- it's making me cry everytime. She has a lot of dogs in her heaven. All happy and all diverse.
This is the first most important death I have ever had to experience. First was my 2nd and 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Ashton, who died of cancer. It affected me, but not a whole lot. I attended the funeral, which was massive, overflowing the large Phoenix cathedral. Cancer, has since been my enemy. Second was Great Grandma or my Grandpa. My Great Grandma was a lovely lady. Always
happy to see you and always loved you so much. She always made me smile even though I never really got to know her as a person. She died in her sleep and it was more of a happy funeral than sad. My Grandpa was cool but was having so many problems mentally and physically- I was also losing some of my respect for him as to where alcoholism was taking him. I only cried the day of his funeral. I do, however, have many great memories of him. But I can't say I was attached. The worst, before Sparky, was an old friend Sam. This happened over 2 years ago. Sam was 28 years old. The number that takes many. He was the brother-in-law and roommate of my first boyfriend. A very happy go lucky guy. He was nicest to me of the crew, or as I should say, gave me the least amount of crap and didn't intimidate me as much. He died from an accident during monsoon in which an electric wire in his backyard had broken and was flapping in the wind. He went out back to check it out- getting electrocuted. His wife finding him dead. The horrible part of it was I had known about the incident for about a week- my Dad likes to tell me stories from the news. He told me this story multiple times and how it only happened a couple miles west from us. But a week goes by and I get a message from my ex-boyfriend telling me Sam had died and I was welcome to attend the funeral. I asked how he died and he told me about the accident. I ran out to the kitchen where my Dad was and my Grandparents who came by for a bit. I began to say to my Dad, hurriedly reminding him of the accident he told me about-out of breath. As I tried to say, "It was Sam" I completely broke down. I kept repeating it. The funeral was fairly large and very depressing in a kind of humoring way. The whole family and friends were funny crazy people. A really fun crowd. I hadn't even seen Sam in a few years- but it was still a shocking event to me. And now Sparky. I have declared recently that the 2 worst, near future, deaths that would be the worst for me would be Sparky and my Dad. Not to say my brother or my friends are not important. But 2 reasons- first, they are the most likely to die sooner-excluding accidents. Second, they are the 2 individuals whom I depend on the most. So I am officially in this position I have not quite experienced.
I did leave out something though. My first death experience was actually that of my first dog. He had been a part of my life since the day I was born until I was about 9 or so. My Dad had taken him to get euthanized for the same reasons, he was old and it was his time. That dog was my ultimate guardian. If I, which I attempted only once, pretended to be dead in the pool, he would jump in and try to pull me out. He was big enough to do so. He was amazing and intelligent. Not to long after his death we got Sparky and another dog that I had picked out, Shelly. I had taught Sparky some of the things that I did by habit with my first dog. Ever since then, I had in the back of my mind wondered about the day Sparky would die. I had, when I was young, been against the euthanasia. But as I got older, I began to understand, accept, and agree with it. But prior to that, I had promised Sparky I would never do that to him and had repeated it to him several times for some years to follow. That was the promise I broke.
Every movement I make on this fucking bed invokes sadness. I don't even know why I'm here.
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