I write blogs in my head daily. Some I write and save but then decide not to send for one reason or another. Often, they just don’t seem significant enough. Or they’re too repetitive. But there are so many changes recently that short blogs – just vignettes about our daily life — seem better. They illustrate the increased loss and confusion, frustration and sadness. And occasionally, the happiness of a good day.
This evening we came out of a store and as we got into the car, Bo asked, “Where’s the dog?” I thought he was teasing me, knowing how upset I would be if she got away. We joked.
But moments later as we drove out of the parking lot, I said something about the dog.
“Dog?” Bo asked. “I never saw a dog.” (She was in the back seat.)
“We have a dog. Emma.”
“Why didn’t I ever see her?”
“You have. She’s a big brown dog. She loves you.”
“Funny, “ he said, “ I don’t remember ever seeing a dog. How long have we had her?”
This sad, frustrating conversation has been repeated over and over – how many times?—dozens, maybe more in the past year and a half since we adopted Emma.
Every day can be like this now. Vast empty places where Bo can’t go. The memories have been wiped away. There are, rarely, momentary glimpses back in time. Two minutes, twenty minutes, twenty days, twenty years. All gone.