The scar remains
One year ago today, I wrote what turned out to be a rather iconic post. If you aren’t familiar with why I keep referring to my undying hatred of Kevin, that post explains it. The anniversary of Emmett’s passing is next week, and I am already dreading it.
I have lost dogs before, and will, I am sure, go through it again though I am hoping that day is far from now. Over time, the sharp pains of grief turn into more of a dull ache, which in time recedes into the corners of one’s mind and only occasionally makes itself known. Eventually, even that wears away, to be replaced by the dusty shimmer of fond remembrance.
But when you are talking about that once in a lifetime dog, the one whose heart so effortlessly grew into yours, the scars left behind when they are ripped from it take longer to heal. This week, my dear friend was in town for a visit, and hadn’t seen Brody for a while.
“Oh wow,” she said. “He looks just like Emmett.”
“He does,” I agreed sadly. “He doesn’t act anything like him, though.”
It was not my choice to end up with a dog who so closely resembled the one he succeeded. I would have preferred that not to be the case. It’s not Brody’s fault that he is not Emmett, and I wouldn’t expect him to be. Nonetheless, I still find myself slipping on occasion when I’m not paying attention and calling him the wrong name, then realizing no, that one is not here.
I received this lovely gift from Amy Valentine after Emmett passed away. I wear it regularly. It helps ward off the ache. I will have it on next week, when I find myself lost in the memories of those last few days at Dog Beach, of the stranger who approached me to take our picture, moved by some tangible expression passing between Emmett and myself our last time there, of the feel of his fur in my hands as I rested them on his still form.
Yes, this wound still hurts.
