Broken Pieces

 

Today marks one year since Milo died. One year! There are approximately 300 sunny days in Phoenix. Funny, last year on this day it wasn't sunny and today the sun is nowhere to be seen. My heart still aches as if there is an open cut trying to heal. I still cry, but not everyday anymore, teary eyed, but not full on crying.  The gash in my heart, that painful hole in my heart, will never, ever, heal or totally close. And I dont want it to! Why should I? Each loss in my seventy-three years has taken a part of me, of my heart,  with it. 

Anne Lamott wrote in Traveling Mercies that only grieving can heal grief. I agree, except for this: the root meaning for heal is the Proti-Germanic word khailaz, which means 'to make whole'. Truly it's complicated and somewhat of a paradox. You know, those darn paradoxes that cause you to realize the absurdity of some truth. Kind of like "the only constant is change '.

The shock of losing my boy was so intense; it stopped time for at least twenty-four hours. All I did that day, a year ago, was sit in a  shrouded daze of disbelief!  I'm not too sure how long that lasted because four weeks later,  our Rosco was euthanized. He had the exact same thing as Milo, hemangiosarcoma, but his was a slow bleed. And that darkened my world yet again.

When we got Milo as a playmate for our Tasha, he was about eighteen months old. (He died at twelve snd a half.) He was the prettiest dog we've ever had, or ever seen. And honestly, other than Tasha, he was the most intelligent.  He was a beautiful,  happy dog who adapted well, loved well, and played like there was no tomorrow. 

But tomorrow came. It sickens me with sadness to think about not having his bright, youthful self still with us.

So, to Milo,

My dearest boy Milo,

Mommy loves you....so freaking much. Forever and a day I love you!!! I know you want me to be happy, but it's hard as hell. I believe you sent Elliot to me to ease the pain, and he did to a degree. But no one can take away the pain of losing you. I didn't realize that, apparently,  the older you get as a human, the deeper your love can be, thus, the deeper your pain. 

I love and miss you my boy. I'd love to believe I'll see you again. Maybe I will. I mean, where do all those lost pieces of one's heart go after they're cut out with grief's painful knife??? They have to go somewhere, right? Perhaps they go to a place where, when there are no more pieces left to break, all the broken pieces are automatically put back together. I hope so. 

I love you pretty boy. Know that mommy thinks of you...Every. Single. Day.

Kisses and hugs.