Day 5

So, today I woke up and I was sick. All these months of worrying and worrying about getting sick because there was always something going on to look forward to finally caught up with me. I finally had something of real importance to distract my cells from fighting the cold and flu germs that have been floating around me.

And, I don’t care.

For the first time in a long time, I don’t care that I’m sick. So what? It doesn’t really matter.

I haven’t truly had to grieve something like this in a long time. I lost a lot of people in my life when I was young. My mother, my friend, my nephews, all of my grandparents…but this is my first real adult grieving. The first time I’ve lost someone I love so much that all that love is now just hovering on my shoulders, pushing me down and begging me to put it somewhere because with each day it turns into something uglier and sadder.

It’s been 5 days. Only 5 days. Already 5 days. It will be a week without him before I know it. A week. A whole week. Then a month. Suddenly it will be a year and I will be older and dogless and reading this back and remembering this sadness. I should allow myself this sadness, but the world doesn’t allow it. He was “just a dog” after all – not realizing that for someone who never plans to have children, he was my child. And my child died. And for fuck’s sake that’s about all I can care or think about right now.

But how long does this go on? I know no one can say for sure. It’s different for everyone. I’ve already managed to get through today only crying once. Work can offer a decent distraction. Not because I have something to do to take my mind off of it, but because I’m not surrounded by memories of him. He lives everywhere at home. Every little thing is a reminder.

I put his stuff away on Sunday. Packed his bed in a box with most of his toys and put it in the basement on his old couch – his original bed. It was the perfect sized couch for him. I kept some of his toys upstairs in his toy closet. There they sit, looking at me and seemingly at once waiting for him and assuring me that a part of him will be there forever in them. Two of them are displayed on a shelf for the time being where I can pick them up and hold them. They still smell of him.

I had band practice yesterday and it scared me how much I had to force myself into caring about these songs. These songs that not a week ago were so important to me and were all I could think about at all times. When I originally envisioned this album, it was going to be a happy popish album. Even its title was the name of my happy place. But it turned dark quickly. 2011 has been a shitty year. One of my worst. Could possibly be the worst. We still have a few months to go. And funny thing is, I think that happy place has now turned into a place of sadness. I can’t imagine ever going back there. There would be too many reminders.

So I just keep writing. Whether it be here or in Facebook status updates (I’m sure all of my friends love the horribly depressing updates I keep posting), actually putting pen to paper, and songwriting. I tried to write my feelings down in a song yesterday. It came out as the most trite, Taylor Swift-y song imaginable. But I had to do it. And it felt good to sing about it.

I’m trying to find things to look forward to. There are things there. Shows to play. Trips to take. Songs to record. But it’s hard to be happy about things. It’s hard to want to be happy about things. There is an instant sense of betrayal that happens. I never want to forget him. Getting over this means I’m forgetting. And I don’t want to forget.

But, life goes on. It has to. People make it so. Work has to be done. Bills have to be paid. Homes need to be lived in. Colds have to be fought.

I like to think that someday I’ll be able to love another dog. Save another one from the horrors of the pound and take him into my heart and love him like Murray – and not feel bad about it. I like to think that. It gives me hope.

And as people have been telling me: Every tear counts. And I seem to have a bottomless well of them that keep bubbling to the surface. I know someday that well will dry and there won’t be a thing I can do about it. And somedays, long after that happens, it will hit me and I will break down out of the blue. I know these things.

I need to be okay with these things.

I need to not feel guilty.

I need to know it was the right time.

I need to know he’s not mad at me.

I need to know he knows I love him so much.

And I need a t-shirt that says: My Dog Died so people understand what is wrong with me and I don’t have to say it every day.

I need some days off so I can rest and recoup. But I have no vacation or sick time. It has been used up on broken pipes and dying dogs.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll post a 25 Songs While I’m Sick At Work. Because I will be here at work. Sick. And maybe a stupid post will be another good distraction.

Or maybe I’ll write another rambling post. Because that will be what I need.

I just wish I knew how to do this.