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First Rain

After any sort of loss, there's a series of firsts that mark the path through grief. I've already been through a few of them this week, but today's is a little bittersweet. It's raining outside. It's the first rain that I haven't had Winnipeg here freaking over the sound of drops striking the roof. She would pace the house looking for some place she felt safe. The process was often infuriating because nothing seemed to calm her, and I would watch her wander into the bathroom and close the door behind her or try to cram her body under an end table.

This past summer, I finally bought her a Thundershirt, and it made a world of difference. She wore that thing pretty much every day during the summer, and although it didn't stop the panic, it calmed her enough that she could at least stay in the room. Today it's been raining most of the morning, and there's Winnipeg wandering around the house. The only dogs here are quietly sleeping, and I'm not sure what to do with myself.

Her spirit isn't around here anymore, and I saw flies circling her grave yesterday. S had a dream the other night that she woke him up to take her outside, and he was relieved to see her running and jumping around the in the front yard. I haven't sensed her around here since then, so I can only imagine that the molecules that comprised her conscious have either floated somewhere else or reorganized into a different entity. I'm not sure I'm okay with that yet, but what can I do?

Each day, this process gets a little easier for me. I spent some time at the beach yesterday. I left there with the reminder that anything can happen at any time in life despite our best...or worst...efforts to preclude them. There's still a palpable emptiness in my life, and honestly, I'm not at the point yet to fill that emptiness with anything else. I guess that's okay for now. The bigger picture will appear when I'm ready for it.

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