So yesterday I went through some stage of grief (not even sure if it is a documented stage or not). I started thinking about all kinds of scenarios:
-What if he wasn't really dead and we buried our best friend alive?
-What if he didn't feel loved and didn't know how much he was truly loved?
-What if J (my fiance) killed him (the most absurd of the bunch)?
-What if I didn't remember him?
The last question had my crying and sobbing. I had to get in touch with all of my friends, colleagues, acquaintances, dudes on the street, just to make sure I would remember my dog.
For whatever reason, I had this thought that I wouldn't remember the love I felt for him. Worse, that I wouldn't remember the horrible pain, aching and longing I feel right now.
Conversations and emails with friends knocked some sense into me. I realized that I would always remember him. He was an enormous part of my life for a decade. That's a quarter of my life. He dominated a quarter of my life. He helped me get through a quarter of my life. His wagging tail, and nudging nose comforted me for a quarter of my life.
How does one forget that privilege? That monstrous gift?
The last quarter of my life has been enriched because of his wet nose and laid-back alpha dog demeanor.