Mourning a Companion

Tears stained my homework as my mother’s voice wriggled and gasped on the other line. I didn’t try to clean them. I didn’t try to stop. You see, when someone dies, tears are the only thing left you can give them.
So I gave her everything I had.
In the past, I thought death was something you wanted to get over, like the flu. I thought mourning was doing everything you could to get okay again. But that’s not it at all.
Mourning is searching through old voicemails to get a glimpse of their voice again.
Mourning is scavenging through old pictures to memorize every detail of their face and the texture of their hair.
Mourning is lying down, eyes closed, desperately trying to recall the last thing you said to them, ignoring the tears that fight through your eyelids, streaming, pooling in the crevices of your ears.

When it’s a pet, you wonder if they were in pain. Did they know they were dying?

Days go by and you don’t vacuum. You don’t lint roll your clothes. The dog hair isn’t annoying anymore because it’s the last tangible part of them you have left. When you get home from work, there’s no howling anthem to welcome you. How do you unload the groceries without a nose inspection first?

But you’ll get another dog. You know you will. And that makes you feel guilty. How will I rationalize giving this puppy Millie’s old spot in the bed? How is it fair that I compare this puppy to Millie? The dog who loved me through puberty, mean girls, break ups, break downs, and everything in between?

I’ll get another dog for the same reason I got Millie. Dogs aren’t simply companions who can’t speak. They teach us unconditional love. They teach us how to listen. Most importantly, dogs teach us that loving with our actions is so much more genuine than words could ever express. Every day you left them for school or work and the first thing you got when you came home was their favorite toy, dangling from their vibrating body. Can you imagine if humans loved so much that they offered away their most prized possession at every sight of a loved one?

Adding a new companion after one dies doesn’t erase the old one. It’s a new relationship with new journeys, new quirks, and new lessons. I miss Millie and I always will. She’ll always keep her place in my heart; but that doesn’t mean my heart can’t grow to make room for another. And maybe that's the lesson behind owning pets after all - to make our hearts grow.

Dedicated to Millie Lamar Johnson, my “Snickle Pickle Girl”