Saturday, March 26, 2011
The Passing of a Friend
It's been about three weeks since we lost our good friend Mickey, and while the idea of his loss no longer surprises me, I find the old routines hard to break. First thing in the morning, I head to the front door to let him out. Last thing at night, same story.
And from time to time I swear--honestly--I hear him yawn or sneeze or stretch and shake. And the skittering of his claws on the hardwood floors? No, that's just the crackle of a plastic bag in the other room. When the doorbell rings? No barking. There has definitely been an emptiness lingering around this house the last three weeks. Especially when our nineteen-month-old calls out, "Mickey! Mickey! Mickey!" every time he sees the pup's picture. One of our son's first words: "Mickey."
I think about the way the new daffodils in the backyard this week seemed to have come out of nowhere. A couple of warm days, then presto: flowers. A death is like that, too. The work of a force as inevitable as the seasons. We didn't see this one coming.