10 Months

This was a long, difficult semester; eight classes at three schools full of students who are still adjusting to life after the pandemic. The classes, grading, and committee work masked some of my grief. At one point in September, I started to think that I was really healing at last.

Then I had a bad day in the middle of October. Masking isn’t real progress.

This season marks the anniversary of Bella’s cancer and decline, and I already know that this will be a hard break. This time last year, we learned that the veterinary oncologist couldn’t see Bella until the last week in January, dashing our one slim hope of prolonging her life.

At least I got to spend a month with her before she really started to decline, though we could see signs of what was to come in the dead of winter.

Callie has latched on to Traci; she remains indifferent to me, though she nestled up to me in bed one night last week.

I cried out of guilt when she did. I’d like to be able to get closer to her at some point, but I’ve accepted that I’ll never be as close to her as I was to Bella.

I started this site the day Bella died with the hope that writing, as it has done before, would allow me to heal as I reflected on Bella’s life and my path through mourning. But writing requires reflection, and it’s hard for me to remember Bella without provoking tears.

Sometimes, those emotions come in very public places. Last week, a pair of food and water dishes with pawprints cast in clay at Syracuse’s December craft show almost set me off. More privately, I still find an occasional two-toned gray hair in the house, and the tears soon follow each discovery.

Nothing, no loss of a pet, friend, or family member has affected me so deeply or hurt so much.