That Time of Year

It’s that time of year, the time of year where my baby’s angel day is approaching. I’ve felt depressed and sad this week, and I have been back in that mental state where I’ve been beating myself up again.

How could I have this… how could I have not done that… I was the one who made him sick… I hate myself.

These thoughts, are dark, they aren’t pleasant, yet, here I am 3 years later, feeling sad, feeling, rundown.

I’m taking a class on small animal diseases, and there’s a discussion assignment this week, and you basically choose an article about an infectious or non-infectious disease, and I saw an article about hepatic lipidosis, which is what Monkey was diagnosed with. I chose this topic to write about for my class, and I pretty much had a breakdown today.

Reading about the symptoms just brought me back to that place, where I could see the symptoms so clearly as if he were sitting sick next to me. And then,

I should have done this, I never should have done that… repeating in my brain.

I started to cry and weep and I held his little box with his remains close. I haven’t done that in forever.

Progress, and life is not linear. When you lose someone you love, and you laugh again, and you gain perspective, and you gain insight and wisdom, and then out of nowhere, or as the calendar continues to turn, you’re hit with those feelings and emotions again, and you get down on yourself for not feeling better or being better or whatever peace is.

In my heart, is my love for Monkey, and I carry that with me, deeply, and I protect that love. Sometimes, the pain and self-loathing returns, and I wish to turn it away, but I realize that some days are better than others, and I know it’s better to have loved and to try to make meaning of a terrible situation, then to keep your heart closed off from the world.

Angel Day

In shortly over a month, will be the 1st anniversary of Monkey’s angel day. Greif that has dulled & subsided is now seeming to bubble up again. The feelings of loneliness, like nothing, can be right, of missing him, are resurfacing. I flipped through pages of my journal from earlier this year and I found so much love, tear-stained pages, and I was taken back to that initial hole in my heart. There was a point that I knew the exact number of days since Monkey left my side, and somewhere around 100 days, I lost count. And now, soon, I’ll be able to count again.