Sarah Palin is better than Obama

Moving Forward, Without My Buddy!

(Gus Kahn / Walter Donaldson-1922)

Life is a book that we study
Some of its leaves bring a sigh
There it was written by a buddy
That we must part, you and I

Nights are long since you went away
I think about you all through the day
My buddy, my buddy
Nobody quite so true

Miss your voice, the touch of your hand
Just long to know that you understand
My buddy, my buddy
Your buddy misses you

Miss your voice, the touch of your hand
Just long to know that you understand,
My buddy, my buddy,
Your buddy misses you.

Your buddy misses you…yes I do

A friend told me about this song yesterday. Friends do help, at times like these.

These past five days have been difficult, and I don’t wish to bore others with my grief.
I am fortunate to have a friend that allows me the opportunity to express myself on his blog, and this post will be the last on the subject of ma’boy Buddy.

I have been dealing with this grief by forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, and trying to maintain my focus, which is much easier when I am away from home, either working, or visiting with family and friends.
But today I was home all day. I still miss him. I miss telling him that I loved him.

Driving home from my brother’s, after burying Buddy, was one of those tasks I knew I had to perform, and went about it perfunctorily. I never reached the speed limit, knowing that I would get back to my empty home soon enough, and was preparing for what I still had to do. There were many pieces that needed to be picked up. Arriving home, I slowly went room to room, pausing and remembering his presence in each, and looking at all of the things that were his.
This was the time for crying, and I didn’t hold back.
Slowly, I began to take the steps I knew I needed to take. I got a large trash bag out, and started collecting all of his things. His food dishes and water bowl, his litter box, his toys, his grooming aids, his medicines, his pillow, they were all put in the trash bag, but not after having flashes of each item, and of when and where I got them. After moping around the house, expunging all the little reminders of him, so they wouldn’t ambush me in the future, I realized it was nearly four a.m., that I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before, and it didn’t matter. I went to bed, knowing I still had much to do. I took the day off that day, Tuesday, and stayed home. I began cleaning the house, and got out the carpet cleaner. There were some spots on the carpet near where his litter box had been, where he had had some accidents, in the last week of his life. I got down on the floor with a brush and foam stain remover, and lovingly removed the spots, as lovingly as I had cleaned him. Then I shampooed the carpet, sighing often.

Since that Tuesday, slowly I am feeling more like myself. I had asked family and friends to not contact me for a few days, as I needed to deal with my pain alone. Since then, I have talked with some of them, and it has helped, though I still can’t say the words out loud, that Buddy died, without becoming overwhelmed with emotion. Expressing my loss, and how I feel, is beneficial, and I know that, but I also know time and distance between where I am now, and the event, has a healing effect. For the first few days, I had constant replays in my mind, of the last hour of Buddy’s life, before that final moment, when I felt his heart stop. The replays were never in sequence, just short clips, and they were just as painful as the actual experience. I was fearful that they would never end, and they may not, but for now they have subsided.

My grief is personal, of that I am aware, but I have experienced it before, as have we all.
So I go on, one step, one breath at a time. I’ve tried to resume normal habits, such as when I sleep, and eat. It occurred to me earlier this evening, that eating has become another perfunctory task, and I hope that one day soon the pleasure in preparing and eating a good meal will return. I tried this evening, with a roasted chicken breast, sweet corn, and a tossed salad, but it only satisfied my need to survive.
Nothing tastes good when I’ve been eating pain for five days.
If only pain tasted like chicken.


Sercan Ondem

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