through the Kübler-Ross model for grief. This morning's refusal to get out of bed and feeling emptiness were married with this idea that she wasn't really gone. I refused to look at the things emphaised the loss--her water dish, her food, her leash. Tonight I'm feeling anger. Terrible rage, even though I don't really have a good focus for that rage. The Goddess? She gave me 16 wonderful years with Cerys. Fate? For a dog, 16 is a ripe old age, better than can be expected for many breeds. Myself? The only real regret I have is that I would have liked her ashes back, but couldn't afford the $120 to that like I did with Spock (as a cat, his was much cheaper). But otherwise despite all the tribulations in my life I gave her a good home. So no, I shouldn't be angry with myself, either. I haven't gone into bargaining--at this point there's nothing to bargain for. I have felt terribly depressed all day-sleeping most of it, although a friend enticed me out long enough to watch a series we liked from fifteen years ago, which I enjoyed immensely.
So that leaves acceptance. I'm not there yet, but it will come, I know. Tomorrow it's back to work and I'll have other things to occupy my mind. But it will be awhile before everything feels 'good' again.
I still haven't taken care of her things. That is for tomorrow, I think. I just can't bear to do it today. Every now and then I get a whiff of her scent, too, and of course for now the bedsheets have it. It's a comforting scent, one that will eventually fade and become one more loss.
But I'm hanging in there, at least. Thanks for reading this. Good night.
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