I used to think I was a strong person. In many instances, I was. Now, not so much. It's been well over 2000 days since my beloved Warren died and two other losses have added to my misery. The most recent loss of my beautiful little Snuggles has left me in tatters. For the first time in 56 years, I am living alone. There is no other living, breathing entity living with me, in my house, providing joy, solace, happiness, giggles - all the wonderful things that living with my love and, over the years 6 puppies, provided. Sterling left me in 2020 and now Snuggles has gone to join him.
I miss them. What else is there to say? I know I will not get over these losses. I don't have to. I just have to figure out how to manage my sorrow. I'm doing the best I can.
The house is eerily quiet and the loneliness is suffocating. To add to the distress, I'm recuperating from a fractured hip and so my singular life has gone into slow-motion. The turn of events has slowed my attempts to crawl out of the abyss of self-pity, unhappiness, sorrow and anger. But I'm doing the best I can.
All is not as dark as it might seem, though. My two wonderful sons have managed to keep me sufficiently engaged along with a few very dear friends. And, as time goes by, I can see and feel progress toward a more normal life slowly creeping back into my consciousness. Loneliness and despair are slowly finding their way to the seats in back of the theater. My strength is gently and haltingly peeping over my shoulder. I'm doing the best I can.
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