I remember losing many dogs while I was growing up. It always hurt. But not like this.
On September 29, 2010, Boomer passed away. This morning, over three weeks later, I faced the stack of bills that had been sitting since Katy and I returned from our trip to Russia. As I flipped through the papers I pulled out the bill from the animal hospital. Boomer’s cremation, the euthanasia, and all of the other charges stared back at me.
I didn’t want to pay the bill. Paying the bill was another step in the process of admitting that he was really gone.
And I just don’t want to let him go. I want him back. Every move I make around the house these days is an empty motion without him behind me, waiting for me, or looking expectantly at me.
Tonight Katy asked me to grill some steak outside, and I swallowed hard. He would want to go outside with me. He’d grab a tennis ball and bark at me until I threw it. He’d bring it back and sprint away, over and over again. Eventually he’d drop it on the ground and roll on top of it. And I would love being outside with him.
Now I was faced with going outside and feeling the permanence of being without him.
The reason I don’t want to let him go is because I want to remember everything about him: his playfulness, his habits, his personality, his love, his loyalty, and even his love of cheese.
I hope that by writing about him on this blog I can somehow hold on to him for the rest of my life. I can look back at his pictures and read his stories. I can show him to people and tell them how he was.
Because he was quite simply one of the best friends and companions that I have ever had.
And I know Katy could write every single word above and it would reflect her heart as well.
So I’m going to try. I’ve never typed and cried so much before. If I succeed and complete a rich, complete story of Boomer’s life, I feel as though the tears will never end when I look back at it.
We miss you Boomer.
