Ivy’s Garden
I’ve been asking questions of my pain. What is it here to teach me? Because I know it’s not nothing. The tightness in my chest every time I miss her. I swept up dirt this morning, and it was only dirt. Dirt where there used to be a pile of soft, white hairs. How we marveled at the amount of fur we swept up every day—and now, only dirt. The absence of her is immense. She dragged her little paws when she walked, a sound that always reminded me of grandma slippers. That sliding of her feet on the floor echoed through my entire life and home. She followed me everywhere. I was her security, and that gave me such immeasurable joy. Her soft love. Her squishy, gentle love, shadowing me wherever I went. The absence of her is almost unbearable. We knew it was coming. For months, I checked on her multiple times a day to make sure she hadn’t passed in her sleep. That was our hope—a peaceful release in her precious puppy dreams. She had stopped walking with me, choosing to stay behind. Even if...
