Snippets of Grief

 Even Costco is filled with reminders of you. A Lego advent calendar. A calligraphy kit. My Popcorners (who am I meant to give those awful cheese ones to, now?) You're everywhere, and nowhere, all at the same time.

 Summer helped us clean the bedroom, today. Your dog is sweet and cute and funny, but fucking annoying sometimes. You should have seen her while we were trying to pack away Missy's crate (because we don't need two crates in the bedroom right now). PS, last night I forgot for a few moments, and got you a cookie dough pop. Don't worry, I ate it on your behalf. It was delicious.

 We're going to Bite Markets tonight. I wish you were coming with us, or here with the dogs, or just... somewhere. I wish you were still somewhere. It hurts that you aren't, you damned bin trumpet.

 I went to Silly Sollies & the Golden Circle factory outlet today. Everywhere there were reminders that you are gone; so many foods I would have bought to share with you, or for you to eat here. Plus, who's going to eat the things I buy to try and don't like, now? That was your job, butt-canoe.

 Red Rooster for dinner and I forgot all about my chips. Who's gonna eat them for me now that they're cold and you're not here? Not happy, Jan.