You may have noticed that I haven’t updated my blog for a few weeks now. I’m going to try to get back onto writing and posting reviews, but I can’t make any promises about how soon I’ll be back at it. I definitely plan on reviewing Children of Blood and Bone as soon as I’m able, because that book is phenomenal and should be on everyone’s bookshelves. Hopefully, I’ll get going on that within the week.
This month—these last two weeks—have been a lot. I had to put my dog Nonabee down a few days ago, and she was everything to me. I’m struggling a lot with the grief, and it’s been making it difficult to sleep, to stay motivated, to do anything at all. Feel absolutely no obligation to read this—writing through it is helping me, a little, but I know reading about this stuff is no fun.
We discovered that she had a very large tumor in her liver, and she quickly lost energy and the will to eat. The stress of watching her go through that was really difficult for me to handle, but I’d take that over what I’m going through now amidst all this loss. Of course, it’s not about me—she was suffering, and I can’t find it in myself to be guilty about letting her finally rest. I just miss her. I didn’t realize just how much she was a pillar of emotional support for me. She’d be the one I’d be holding right now, to help me through this, if she was here.
It’s hardest at night, when I keep instinctively thinking she’s sitting outside my bedroom door, wanting to be let in. When I’m in bed, with nothing to distract me, I can’t get the images of her very last moments out of my mind, and I find myself cracking open all over again. The first two days after, I tried so hard to focus on her love, and I swore I could feel her beside me, comforting me. I like to think she’s here with me now, and I can take her with me wherever I go.
But it’s so hard when I just want to hold her. When I want to see her come up to me and nudge me out of my sorrow, wag her tail, and goad me into playing with her. I can picture so clearly what she’d do to cheer me up. And in a way, thinking about that helps a little bit, as much as it hurts.
I didn’t think I could feel sorrow so deeply, but it's worth it, for all the years of light and love she gave me.
Writer, reviewer, bookseller, book nerd extraordinaire. Fiction reader at Waxwing Magazine.