Barely Breathing
With a Broken Heart
That’s Still Beating
In the Pain
There is Healing
I’m Holding On
I’m Still Holding on to You
In Memory of Morgan, 2009-ish – December 10, 2020
Like we said every day, you’re always gonna be my dog. My dog, my dog, my dog. I am so grateful we found each other. Thank you for choosing me.
He will never be in the past tense for me. He will always be Present. Perfect.
I don’t do much. My family gives me room to grieve. And it’s winter, and it’s snowy, and it’s cold, and I’m hurt, falling apart in other ways. Tennis elbow. Morton’s neuroma, plantar faciitis. I’ve spent all these years staying fit, knowing it’s so much harder to get fit than to stay that way. But I can’t shovel snow. I can’t cut back invasive species. I miss my walks with Morgan. I know I shouldn’t run too much, hike too hard. So I do the bare minimum, when I want to. I strap on snowshoes, or I stumble through knee deep drifts. I’m taking a break. I’m watching the impeachment. I’m waiting my turn on the vaccine. I’m in the waiting place.
We sold the Maine house. I think we should take a road trip. No planes. Still seven states. One year left, give or take. I can see me driving out to visit Laura in Colorado, bringing a mountain bike and a tent and just exploring. I don’t have to worry about leaving Morgan behind. He will be standing beside me, on the console, riding shotgun, looking ahead, wondering what wonderful thing we will do next.
