Missing you always

It always hits you. Again and again it hits you, the sense of loss.

You do things--wake up, fix the trash, come home--and remember how it used to be when she was there, your baby, your baby.

How terribly empty life has been since she died, how terribly ugly it has been.

Every day is a reminder of what you've lost and what will never be again.

The desolation is immense, seemingly endless.

There is no mercy in surviving.

Ugly, ugly world

My dearest Vixen.

What an ugly world this his been since you left. I hate waking up. I hate the days. I look forward only to those two hours of drink and solitude I have each day away from home, six beers and two shots of scotch in a bar before heading back home...each day without you, each night without you.

This is life now. It is hardly life.

Every time I sleep I think of never waking, but I always do.

This is life now. It is a daily torment.

Boobie, June 18, 1991-July 21, 2005; Remembering my baby, born 21 years ago today

My dearest Boobie.

You made life beautiful. And when life wasn't beautiful, you made it bearable.

When life brought sorrow, which was often, you put in a pinch of joy.

You are missed, always.

My lovely, lovely Boobie.

Almond, December 16, 1994-June 2, 2007: Remembering my baby, now five years gone

It's been a sad day from the start. Five years ago, also on a Saturday, I lost my baby, my Comebaby, my Almond, my Mondy, my Alimondmond.

Five years to the day. I weep as I write this.

I saw you die, one twist and you were gone. I thought you were just stretching, but then you were gone. You were sick for about two weeks, red discharge coming out of your vagina. That last day, you ran out and vomitted, you wouldn't eat. You had lumps all over, said the vet. Then you were gone, just like that.

My baby, how could I have survived all these years without you? I guess I had Vixen for consolation, a reason t live, to smile, to laugh. Now even Vixen is gone.

I miss you so much, my Comebaby, and the tears keep coming.

Oh how I wish I were with you again, if only in death. No need for an afterlife, just to be with you in nonexistence, gone together, as we were in life together.

My dearest Almond, my dearest Comebaby. Why am I not with you in the bliss of death?

That lingering sense of loss

The sense of loss is everywhere.

I feel it everyday, from the moment I wake up. I start down the stairs expecting to hear Vixen's footsteps, to see her welcoming me. I do repairs and I look to where she used to sleep; I keep taking care not to disturb her, but she's no longer there. I do some hammering, expecting her to bark, or to run where I am and to look on. There is always that expectation of her being there--and always that painful realization she is not. I leave the dried urine outside alone; the sun and rain will eventually dry and wash the smell away.


For years, everything I did at home and away was with thought of my babies, of Boobie, Almond, and Vixen. These past four years everything revolved around Vixen. This overbearing emptiness continues. I keep looking for her, watching for her, listening for her, waiting for her, as if somehow she'll be there.

What do I do without my dearest baby?

The days have no meaning now.

Living without you

My dearest Vixen,

More than a day has passed since you died, and this world has become unbearable without you. I wake up waiting to hear your footsteps, only to find silence. I look to where you used to sleep, knowing I will never see you there again. I come home knowing you will never be there again to welcome me. I hear the rain knowing you will never again shake upon its sound, terrified of thunder. All the cares and worries that concerned you, all gone now, save for the memory of what once was.

When Boobie died, I had you and Almond for comfort. When Almond died, I had you. Now that you're gone, I have nothing. How many times have I asked you, in the silence of our hearts, not to leave me? How many times have I asked the fates or whoever is in charge of the universe to let me go first? The time for your feeding comes: you are not there.

Of course my surviving you is better for you. Who else would take care of you? The thought makes the pain no less. There is this awareness of your absence everywhere at home, even outside.

You are gone, and I can hardly bear it.

I walked around early tonight, almost in a daze, but not quite. For the first time in more than four years, I had a drink. I had three--J&B, straight up. I drank to your life. I thanked you for all that you were and always will be to me. I drank to following you soon.

In memoriam, Garpy, December 29, 1982-August 10, 1991, Lovingly remembered on the anniversary of his death

After all these years,
I still remember.
That last day, that last time.
You waited for me,
one last time.
Then you left.
You saw me through the dark times,
then said goodbye.

After all these years,
you remain in my heart.