Frisco
Tears are streaming down my face and I need to hold on to furniture as I walk around the house.
Four days ago, we put Frisco to sleep. The cancer was to the point he had stopped eating.
Besides a few tears when his eyes closed for the last time, I have been dry until now.
I am known for delayed grief. I did not feel any push or desire to hasten myself from denile. I even thought I might hold on until this weekend, when our vacation starts and I am in the Wisconsin cabin where I know I can be healed of anything.
But, events and stress and hormones being what they are, I just broke down. And now I realize why I wanted to put off this particular cry.
Frisco, for 16 years, would come find me when I was crying. Even when I was sad or sick, he could tell. His fur soaked up more of my tears than anything, or anyone, else.
Now, I sat on the couch and looked around. The dog, the other cats, kept their distance.
I feel empty of everything.