Rocky

I lost my best friend and confidant a little over a week ago. And while it seems like it was just moments, it already seems like a lifetime away. He had walked through life’s struggles with me, sat and cried with me and let me cuddle with him when the world outside seemed cold and dark. He never judged me or scolded me for over reacting. He didn’t care that my mascara was running or that I was wearing my comfy pants for the second night in a row. He loved me unconditionally.

I had always said that no one else would love that pup like I did. He was in many ways my heart and soul. He saw me at my worst, brought out my best and no matter what he always wanted to be near me—even when I couldn’t stand myself.

He was my first dog and I was surprised how much my heart could love him in the short seven and a half years he was a part of my life.

He was my best and longest relationship with the opposite sex and while to some that may sound sad, I think it’s much to be expected. He never let me down, never broke my heart (until a week ago) and at every turn wanted to know how I was or where I was (and yes, apparently I still can go to the bathroom without him in the same room, but it doesn’t seem the same).

Rocky was there when things hit the fan. He licked my tears, laid with me when I couldn’t move and listened to me yell at no one in particular. He was a godsend, a major player in me making it through the past five years and in many ways the tangible version of a God who I can not touch.

Now he’s gone.

It has been 8 days, six of those have involved tears, but I'm always sad and I miss him constantly. I talk to him, sleep with his toy clutched to me (the ones that I refused to pick up after he slobbered on them-those seem the most precious now). I added his dog tag to my keys and find myself rubbing it mindlessly. I’m constantly sad, no matter what my face may be showing. My whole body knows that something is off.

And it doesn’t just end there. The house is quiet. It makes sounds I’ve never heard before and things spook me easily. I can’t watch a scary movie because who will comfort me? I give directions to my house and get sad as I drive our walking route. I see remnants of him and my heart weeps a little. How am I doing? I’m holding on. Outside is one thing, inside is another.

I get concerned easily. I'm nervous to answer the phone--feeling like something tragic is coming. A number I don’t recognize could mean an accident or answers and each one holds it’s own set of fears.

So much tragedy, so much pain in 29 years. There has to be a reason for all this pain. Other pain I’ve gone through I have seen the other side and I see Him at work. But, Rocky?!!? He was so much a part of me. How can his tragic and horrible death come from a God who is supposed to love me? I don’t see it and I’m angry and I’m sad and I’m confused.

So, no, in no way am I back to 'normal,” no matter what you see on my face, but I’m hanging on the best I know how without him.