Year three.

Photo copyright Aji, 2019; all rights reserved.

Year three of this being the worst night of my year. That won't change. 

It was five o'clock in the evening when Griffin left us on this date in 2016. We were completely unprepared; we thought it was only a bad relapse of his canine vestibular syndrome. It was much worse (after his spirit left his body, we found the tumor buried deep along his spine), although the blessing was that he simply went to sleep on his own, no pain, no agony, no aids needed.

The agony was all ours. Mine especially. I know no one will understand — how could you never (thankfully for you) having been forced to live in my mocs. But Griffin found me some years before Wings and I even met, and it's no stretch at all to say that he rescued me, saved me, even more than I did him. There were times in my life when there was literally no one . . . except this pure spirit. I have never felt such a void as when he left us, and it is not diminished by the passage of years. 

He rests where most of the others do, and at five, I went out and left him cedar, tobacco, fresh water, a jerky treat. Earlier in the day, I'd extracted the still lively bright-purple sprigs from the last flowers Wings bought for me, grocery-store flowers some two weeks ago that lasted all this time, and put them next to his marker. They suit him somehow.

Another year gone without my boy, the spirit who was always closest to mine. Another year of an endless void in heart and soul, a small desolate spot in the shape of a beautiful brindle dog. He left a hole in Wings's heart, too, one that always looks for the brown dog in the bright red coat, patrolling in the snow.

We love you, Griffin. You're in our hearts, and our spirits are with you every moment.



All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2019; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.