Snippets of Grief

 In a couple of hours, it's going to be the 2nd of February -- 4 months since you left. I still find myself doing stupid things -- I'll be thinking how it's been 4 months since you died, and in the same breath, I'll reach for my phone to text you to come over. Summer has settled nicely into her new home, but you know that, because you went with her. Don't think I don't know it was you, banging around H's place. And then... you left. And now you're... you're where? Not here. Too far away.

 I'm sliding deeper into myself without you here. I don't know if anyone else has even noticed, let alone cares. I want to follow you. PS, H says Summer's crazy side swimming is seizures. I feel so guilty that we missed it.

 It's Summer's birthday today, and because of you, she's not here to celebrate with us, and nor are you. I'm angry-sad. Or maybe just sad. I miss you both, so damn much.

 80 days since I started these little notes to you. Most of the first little "oh man" moments are done now, I think. It'll be the big ones still, of course, but the silly things are probably done. I'm not sure why I feel the need to mention that, but there we go. We took Summer and Missy to see the Christmas lights last night. You would have been so proud of them both. Not only did they not try to eat (m)any of the people walking past, but they were both * in the back seat *! It was different, driving to see them, instead of going on the bus, but I still missed you.

 Almost all I have done for the past few days has been sleep. I don't know if it's mental or physical or both, but today... today was different. Today we visited your girl in her new home, and I know you were there too. I don't understand why I almost never feel you, but maybe it's because I feel you in laughter, and deeper joy, and there's been so little of that. Whatever it is. You were there today and Summer was herself, and it was a precious day. Thank you for giving me what I needed to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

 Summer is settling well with her new mama, but I think you already know that. F says she feels you here every time she comes, but I don't. I felt you that day on the beach, and I haven't really felt you since, though yesterday all I could smell was ice coffee. I know that was you, but eesh. Couldn't you have picked something better, ya goose?

With Summer gone, it feels as though all the pieces of you are slowly disappearing into nothing. You are just a picture in a photograph, a name on my tongue.

 Thank you. H is the perfect mama for your Summer, and I know you orchestrated this. I'm still so very sad she's gone, but I know this is the right next step. K and I are going to the movies this afternoon, to see The Witches. I wish you could come with us. Added bonus, your ticket would be free... PS, since I haven't called you anything interesting lately, I just wanted to remind you that you're a rancorous tallow-faced scurvy-knave. You're welcome.

 It's been a big couple of days. I wish you were here to talk to, but of course, if you were here to talk to, some of this hurt wouldn't need to be talked about. Your children all have been by in the last couple of days to say their goodbyes to Summer, because we - as I am sure you know - organised H to take her. She's just gone. I feel like I failed you, that I couldn't keep her longer; and I feel so sad that she's not here anymore - not just for her own goofy sake, but because there's another piece of you gone.

 Are you there, behind the scenes somewhere, orchestrating something for Summer? Oh please, let this work out. 

 You have left me with the most heartbreaking decision I could possibly have to make around all of this. The one piece of you, the one thing I had that I could do for you, and I have to decide what happens to her next -- knowing I cannot keep her.

Today I can't stop crying. You're supposed to be here, you damn asshole. I've lost so much already, why you too? And because I've lost you, I have to lose Summer, too. 

 Your dog had diarrhoea again yesterday, by the way. I had hoped she was all better, but no, another 5am clean up on aisle floor. Other than that, so much has happened that I haven't written to you about. Some days it feels like everything is on slow-motion, and other days zoom by so fast I don't have time to blink. The littles are starting to realise you are really gone. It's breaking my heart all over again as I explain to them that no, you aren't coming back. Summer has gone for her first sleepover with her new family. She went last night and I haven't heard anything back since, so I guess she's going pretty well. I met another new support worker, H. She's great. You would have liked her too, I think, though her high energy might have worn you out. Summer loved her, and midway through was trying to lick her face.

 Why is it always me who winds up cleaning up your dog's diarrhoea? This was a terrible wake up call, and of course, once again, I blame you, bootless mother-rag.

 Your cake was delicious. I told Y about you a little bit. It was good to have a laugh at how innocent your ideas about Summer were, in the beginning. Remember how you were horrified at her sleeping in the crate instead of your bed? Goofus. Or remember how you were going to leave her home by herself while you went off to work, on her second day with you? Yeah. Your unit would've been absolutely *destroyed*, wouldn't it? Speaking of destroyed, K says she got into the bin today... PS, F is having some computer issues, and you're meant to be here to tell us how to fix it, you bastard.

 Happy birthday, ferretfeatures. I can't believe it was only 43 days ago that my world was turned upside down; and I can't believe it was so long ago, either. Mostly I still can't really believe you're gone. Will I ever? Your dog's fine, by the way. She was goofy as hell for a while, slept it off, and now she's all good. Thanks for looking out for her (I know you were).

Your idiot dog got into K's pills today while we were both out. She's been induced to vomit, she's got charcoal pills, and she's sprawled across the floor doped out of her mind. You have only yourself to blame, tattleface.

 Summer had another visit to her new home, yesterday. With me there, she was a less frightened than last time, but I'm really starting to wonder if it might not be better for us all if we just moved her in there and let her adjust. I wish you were here to tell us what was best -- but of course, if you were, we wouldn't need to do this, would we, dishface?

 Things I'm not sure I've told you lately: 1. Yesterday, my internet wasn't working again. I remembered what you tried last time, and I tried that, and it didn't work. Then I rebooted, and that did. You'd have laughed so hard at my ineptitude, but you'd also have been proud of me for figuring it out. 2. Your dog took me for a walk yesterday. I thought I'd try your old trick, and I looped the lead around me to use my weight as an anchor. Yeah, turns out I also needed your coordination. Cue the face-plant and slight drag. 3. Summer got into K's Up & Go packets today. There was chocolate milk all over the floor. Still, as things go, we both/all know that that was pretty mild, since they were alone from like 12ish. 4. I haven't really played Ovipets since you died. I want to. I try to. But I just... don't. I'm doing research for the new mutations, and I've hatched and bred a handful of eggs, but that's about it. I haven't even sta...

 It's been a full calendar month since you left. And that's still how I think of it, so much -- "left", like you took a walk and you'll be back any day now. I don't know how, but life goes on going on. Summer had her first visit at her new home yesterday. Did you see how frightened she was? That, if nothing else, would have made you want to be here again, I know it would have. She still needs you. So do I.