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My baby is gone. He left us yesterday, on his own accord, without us present. He needed the space to slip away from us, to transition to a place without pain and suffering. But for him it is not a place without us. He can come to us whenever he wants. He knows what is in our hearts. And I believe that our grief pains him, he knows that it is part of our process of letting go of his physical presence in our lives.

The house has an eerie quiet to it. His energy is still here, but fading. Everywhere I look there are reminders of him. I can’t bear to look at them but I can’t bear to not have them here. I see them and look through them. The reminders too painful, realizing that he will never play with those toys again, wear that collar again, or eat out of that bowl. Time moves so slowly today. I can’t seem to catch my breath. The emptiness is so stark. I need to move to expend the energy of grief locked in my body, but weariness feels like concrete boots. I want to be around people but I want to be alone. Grieving is a series of dichotomies, of opposites trying to reconcile in one space. Come-go. Cry-laugh. Move-stay. Remember-forget. Hope-despair. Anguish-relief. Anger-Acceptance. But always Love. Love. Love.

I cannot ignore or ever forget that Kona was all about love and joy. He came here to take care of me. That’s what he thought his job was. And he loved me. In fact, he loved everybody. He adored his dad. He was always about living in the moment. And enjoying his life. He took joy in the simple things in life. Going outside. Going for a ride. Cheese. Walks. Hugs. Treats. Being with his people.

How I miss him. How I hate myself for being gone so much. For not being able to spend the time with him that he wanted and deserved. How much he just wanted to hang with me. Lying at my feet. Following me from room to room. Always having to touch me. How I wish I was there to touch him one last time. To kiss him one last time. All I have a picture and a lot of memories. I didn’t think he would leave me yesterday. I thought I would have more time. Not much. But if I could only have one more hour. One more hug.

In these hours and days of raw grief, I focus on the circumstances of his passing, and not his life. Perhaps because remembering his life is too painful right now. And it isn’t in the remembering of his life that is painful, but in the realization of his absence in my future. The memories of having him here are in stark contrast to contemplating a future without him. With time I will focus more on the memories. Perhaps sooner rather than later. But the hole that his passing has left is so vast that it is the only thing that can be felt.

See more progress on: Think good thoughts for Kona.