2/17

This was to be the day of Bella’s euthanasia, but cancer doesn’t heed schedules. We lost Bella on Tuesday, Valentine’s Day, the date we had purposely chosen to avoid. The days leading up to her death consisted of lasts: last year, last month, last days, last hours. The trip from the vet’s office marked a transition to firsts. For the first time in nine years, Bella would no longer be a physical part of our lives. We will have to adjust to returning home to a house without her in it, cope with the passing days and weeks marked by her absence. 

Traci brought her home from the crematorium last night. Her box will remain on our mantle as mute testimony to our loss.

I’m back to cracking jokes with my students after breaking down in my Atwood class on Wednesday. Humor is only a cover, but it lets me function with a modicum of normality. 

I can make it through most of the night without tears now. Sleep is a different story. I’ve resisted the urge to look for Bella on Traci’s side of the bed, but each moment in the house reminds me of our loss. 

This will be a long, painful recovery.