One way to cope with death is to pretend like the dead do not matter to you, have never mattered to you. One way to cope with the empty space the dead leave in your life is to make yourself believe that you’re relieved that they have gone.

“Ah yes, it’s so much nicer here without a dog who is dying.”

For a fraction of a second, this rings true. Then there is a white-hot flash of remorse.

Loss is part of living. Grief is part of loss. Sometimes grief involves kicking and screaming and hating the world, for a minute.

I suspect that I am thinking this way because the alternative hurts. The alternative is that she did matter, and sometimes things that matter don’t last.

She had the audacity to be born, to live for a while, and then stop being alive when she couldn’t go on living.

She brought you joy and also made you tired. She gave you strength and also demanded strength from you. She kept you company when you needed someone to keep you company and sometimes she also made you want to be alone. She was a source of comfort and also annoyance.

She didn’t need much, not really, but you were her whole entire world.

She could not have gone on existing without you. She was exactly what you needed, way back when. She was more than you could carry on your own. She was so much more than you bargained for, when you agreed to be her caretaker. She was a contract you could not break. She was one of a kind. She never did anything to hurt anyone, not on purpose. She was innocent. Her existence was easy, uncomplicated, straightforward. Hers was not the perfect life it could have been, maybe, but it was mostly a comfortable life, and that was enough.

I have never lived in a house without a dog.

Her body is absent.

My body is numb.