Slow Healing

I just came out of a planning meeting at a coffee shop next door to the vet’s office where Sunny died. I’m sitting now in my car, facing the little patch of grass where she collapsed, where I held her as she took her last shallow breaths, where her body quaked with one last shooting pain, before I carried her back in for an attempt at resuscitation. I hate this place as much as I hate the doctor who tried to save her, the techs who tried to help, myself because I couldn’t see the quiet spreading infection that finally stopped her beautiful heart. I hate this place, and I hate the feeling of having to explain my grief to people who don’t understand how a mutt from the streets can be a human’s soul mate, how that bond can help nourish a broken woman back to wholeness, and how deep the hole is when that soul mate is in the ground.  I hate the memory of the solid heaviness of her dead body in my arms as I lowered it into the earth.


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