It’s taken me a few days to really absorb the loss of our family dog. I brought Bebo for my mom 12 years ago, but funnily enough my dad named her. It took him less than a minute. As I stroked her hair before we put her down, I couldn’t help remembering how I stroked my father’s hair in Iran as we cleaned his body before cremation. Both times, tears streamed down my face, and regret covered my soul.
The sheer pain in my heart felt as if I would melt into a torrent of grief and loss. Bebo knew she was going. Her eyes looked at my calmly as she accepted her fate, and I wondered if I would be blessed enough to do the same when my time came.
Papa always talked about Death and how he was content with his life. As I struggle in my stormy emotions, and the awareness of yet another death in our family, I feel our house get even sadder. A certain quietness reigns through the rooms, and it feels as if we speak in whispers at a funeral. Joy comes occasionally, but more often, it is just a thick blanket of silence where everyone in the house pretends to move forward.
Each week it seems something new comes up that takes out just a bit more air out of the house, and so I sit in silence, bathing myself over and over with grief, and feeling if the ache in my heart will ever go away. I know logically that loss is a part of life, but for it to happen to us and loved ones suddenly over and over not only is destabilizing, it makes me wonder how I can move forward.
I used to look forward to new weeks, and changes, but lately it’s filled with dread and wonder who or what will end next. It truly makes me feel alone.