The barn was really, really quiet when I went down to feed a little while ago. No one was hovering at the gate, ready to maul me for his scoop of Equine Senior. No one took forever to gum said scoop of Equine Senior. No one searched the other stalls to make sure tasty morsels hadn't been left unaccounted for. Fansi got her own pile of hay. So did Mariah.
I didn't feel the need to call out, "See you tomorrow, guys!" like I always do. He's gone. I won't see him tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that.
There's this nagging feeling, urging me to write it all down--every memory, every quirk of his, every second of our last embrace--because tomorrow I will forget it all. And I want to give into this leading, stay up all night typing and weeping and remembering, but I know I can't. Soon, a family will call, ready for me to care for them as a soul enters this world to replace the one I've lost. Soon I will support another family recovering from a sleepless night of nurturing. Writing our story would take every ounce I have left. Somehow, I have to convince myself that tomorrow I'll still be able to look back on our lifetime together and see it as clearly as I can now. I must rest so I can hope to carry on.
I've got to thread together the tatters of my emotions and try to mend the hole in my heart.... I hate the idea that someday I could forget him, and that someday I won't think of him and miss him as much as I do right now.
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You are awesome. Comment some more and I will be sure to tell you again. :)