I picture the dog on a leash. I picture the triple braided rope tied around the metal clasp that is then locked onto the leash. I picture a large pole in the middle of the yard, the dog running around in circles trying to figure out how to get as much chasing as it can while also realizing with each tug that there is something holding it back, a silent hand that keeps yanking at it’s neck when it’s simply trying to get the most out of life that it can.
And I look out a different window than the one I did last year… The crisp blue water of a bubbling pool the picture of summer in New Jersey. And I see three hummingbird feeders gently swaying back and forth, a testament to my quiet obsession with these little winged marvels. And I can do nothing without you invading my every thought.
Last night I baked chicken and wished that I was making it for us.
Today I look for jobs and I see Lacey Township and I think of Cynder and all the memories we have with our beautiful golden that part of me still wishes we kept.
And last night I dipped Oy in the pool as I held her and I thought about the time we tried to teach Muttley and Cynder to swim in Port Republic.
And it’s Saturday and I’m drinking coffee and I should be drinking it with you.
“Do you give up yet?” She screams at me.
And I listen, as if I should hear some kind of Eastern European accent, but knowing there is none.
And as the pain winds throughout my body like a river that has just been unleashed I scream back “Yes! Stop, please! I can’t take it any longer! I’m done!”
Our memories both keep me alive and make me want to die. They keep me tethered to a world in which I feel like I have no place any longer but also torment me with every second that passes.
I’m sad. I’m hurting. I’m alone. I have no redemption story, only a Redeemer whose love seems distant.