I am deep in my grief, aching for my missing Jasper, realizing all of the countless ways he is woven into every moment of every day. The way my first thought is of him every morning, as it has been for years, seeing him, making eye contact and hearing the thump-thump-thump of his full-body greeting. The way I'd whisper good-night to him every night before turning off the light, wherever he was, whether on his pillow in our room or taking up an inordinate amount of space on our bed. And breakfast, breakfast is a meal of heartbreak for me now, so missing is his gorgeous face two feet from my right elbow, waiting for his share of toast.
There just doesn't seem to be much point to getting up in the morning. No one to feed, no one to walk, no one excited in that particular way to see me again, every time just like the first, every time just like the last.
Look, I know there is serious shit going down in the world right now. Bodies washing up by the thousands in Japan, millions fleeing nuclear fall-out, my friends and neighbors buying potassium iodate in the event that the radiation comes here to our coast. I know there's big shit happening in the Middle East, too -- people rebelling, government oppressing. All kinds of human misery.
But what's happening to me and Joe and Laurent right now, this is family. It is our own 8.9, an event that has changed our lives forever, brought more pain and heartbreak than we knew was possible. Family.
As we were driving back from Davis the other night, with Jasper on his pillow for the very last time, Laurent remarked that he couldn't remember a single instance of ever, ever being angry with Jas. For him, Jas was just an endless source of happiness -- never anything else. To which Joe responded (typical), that we should all be more like dogs, really, just be love, all the time.
Joe is so right, as usual. How right it would be to approach life like Jasper, every morning glorious, every walk exciting, every glance at his people a source of full-body joy. I'm working on this right now, especially because I feel like the hundreds of endearments and kisses I gave to Jas on a daily basis for years need to go somewhere, need to be expressed in more than tears.
I'm so glad that the spot in the yard where we laid Jassie's beautiful body is a spot I can see from my bedroom window, from my bed even. We went looking yesterday, the three of us, for a suitable beautiful stone to place in that spot. For now we have a bench pulled up close so we can sit and think about Jasper, tell stories to each other, have a cry and love him up.
Our sweet boy is everywhere we look, though. Everywhere.
Jasper was all love all the time. [ok, except for that one HVAC guy he tried to bite, but he was so right about that, I almost bit him myself.] He was a true source of joy and delight, every single moment of every day.
So we're making our way through this bleak sad part, feeling every feeling, hearts big and full and aching, remembering all that love and holding it high, little furry beacon, to lead us out of this dark patch.
We miss him so much.