what do i say here? what more can i say? how many ways can i say it? i miss you. i love you. you’re forever in my heart.
i listened to your purr today. i was lucky that i had the ability to record it. to record videos of you. to take all the pictures. you’re the most documented pet we’ve ever shared a home with. well, you and Quill. i wish i could’ve recorded your squeaky awkward meows. my little velilaraptor.
i reread part of last year’s post. i couldn’t get far into it because of the tears. it brought back all those feelings of sadness. and guilt. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.
over the past year, i’ve found countless hairs of your’s on my clothes. on my bedding. i found out that the little bit of shed i kept still smells like you. like syrup. i’ve felt you climb into my bed.
i haven’t slept under the pegasus blanket. i think i’m scared to. it was our special blanket, that you could sleep under. i’m scared that i won’t notice that you’re not pawing at it to be let under. or you will be. i don’t know.
Quill isn’t sleeping in your bed anymore. he hasn’t for months. it takes so much willpower not to just collapse and lay my head in it. it wouldn’t be the same. wouldn’t be right. you’re not there, purring.
it’s gotten easier, though. i’m okay a lot of the time. i kinda hate it. i saw a thing about grief, relating it to a ball in a box with a button. this one. it’s a good analogy, i think. the original analogy doesn’t mention that the ball will reinflate. but it does. lately, it’s been big. i’ve spent this past week carrying around Teddy Panda. leaving the house has been rough because i don’t want to take him out and leave him in the car while i’m running errands, so when i need to go out, i blast music to distract myself. i wish you could still go for car rides with me. i miss taking you for walks in the park. i miss looking in the back seat and seeing you perched on the door, looking out the window. i’m sorry we didn’t go on more walks.
the year has been rough in other ways. i don’t think my mental health wouldn’t tanked as hard, but i do think that i still needed the medication. losing you was kind of a catalyst. i just stopped. life went on, but i didn’t. not really. i didn’t play anything. i wasn’t drawing. i just existed from one day to the next. but i did get help. and i’ve started on my hobbies again. i’m not moving fast with it. my art takes so long now. i’d like to say i’m splitting my time between a few different games, but that’s not really true. i’m playing Animal Crossing. that’s all. i load up GTA sometimes, and maybe play a race. but i have a library full of games i’m not touching. i have a folder full of WIPs that i’m not touching. i’m trying, though.
mental health. physical health. it all went south. i am doing better. i’m not well, not really, but i’m doing better. i don’t cry every day. i get out of bed. sometimes, i can do the dishes or cook. it’s the new normal.
i know we made the right choice, letting you go when we did. i know it would’ve been selfish and cruel to keep you longer. there’s no way you would’ve been comfortable or pain-free. so i try to take comfort in knowing that we did the right thing. but i still miss you. and i know i always will.
this year has passed so quickly. i often say that time is an illusion, but it feels more accurate now than ever. i know that it’s just going to keep going. and somehow, so must i.
i love you forever, sweet girl.