Yesterday morning, I woke up happier than usual. I was so happy that I actually smiled and thought about all the things that I could do today that would help me to continue in this joyous mood. But first, I had to wake up Holly and let her know I was awake and that I'd give her some treats in a second. So I stretched my hand down, and stroked her head and then realised that it felt smaller than it should be. And that's when the cold, harsh reality struck...
Shooting up in bed, I looked at Mary, who was sleeping against my legs, and I let out a sad, silent, sob. That's exactly where Holly use to sleep every night until Mother and Dad took her in her room because of all the sorrow that hit us when we all realised that it could be her last night any night. Then she had to sleep downstairs because the chemotherapy proved too much and she couldn't hold her meals.Instead of seeing the half black Labrador, half Whippet, on my baby rug taking up a massive amount of my leg space, I saw the pedigree whippet on my duvet talking up a tiny amount of it. (I use to put my baby rug on my bed so she's sleep there instead of on Tess' bed, but after she passed, I hung it on my chair and refuse to put it on my bed for the painful memories that it would provoke.)
Now don't get me wrong, I love Mary to bits, but if somebody offered me the chance to have Holly back, alive and healthy, I'd jump at it. Needles to say, the good mood didn't stay.
Kindest Regards,
A Mournful,
Stripes xy
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