and...

I thought tonight would be better. I guess that's what's weird about grief, and healing...things come in waves. Yesterday evening I walked my dogs and felt a sense of lightness and almost peace at sunset, and here I am again at 3 A.M. bawling again over the stupid keyboard.

I don't remember my dreams lately. On saturday night, the night before Clyde died, I dreamt my mom died. She was standing in her kitchen, and she kicked at the air because she was pissed, and then she had a heart attack. Perhaps I had this dream because Saturday it really set in for me that Clyde's situation was precarious. Still, I thought, or I think I thought, that as long as we did everyting "right" that Clyde would be ok.

I am aware I have moved onto that state where I often make the choice to think about Clyde, and that perhaps it isn't the healthiest choice, The first day or so, there was no choice...every waking moment was spent thinking, or actively trying not to think about him. Now, I can "redirect" myself, and think about other things, without too much effort. Sometimes.

For example, I am aware that most of my statements begin with I, and can remind myself it is about what we did for him, not what he did for us, and that  lets face it, whereever he is now, even if its just one big hush, is better than where he probably was for those last few minutes. I can honestly think that and it isn't just some words I put on a shelf to look at later.

Still, at the risk of seeming self-indulgent or melodramatic, I believe Clyde's death must serve some more meaningful purpose though. Otherwise, its easy to give up on the fair and just side of life.



p.s.: I'm sure there are some wonder how on earth I could ever even place a foster dog I had for a month or so in the same league as my family, and to those individuals, in the immortal words of George Carlin, I say: "go fuck yourself."