It’s been a week, and while that’s nowhere near long enough for things to feel better, there are constant reminders of what we’re missing, which are making things even harder each time they happen.
But I said last week that you need to concentrate on the positives, and the fact that there are these constant reminders is testament to just what an important piece of the family our beagle was.
Each time the fridge is opened, each time some cheese or meat is cut, each time you grab a bit of biltong or some chips, you’re waiting for her to appear so that you can share a bit with her.
We had a braai on the weekend, which was a difficult one, because it was very much the beagle’s favourite thing. Four stages, lasting throughout the evening and into the next morning. First of all, the food prep, which, as described above, was always liable for a beagle tax. Then the cooking, because if you waited long enough and paid enough attention, something would somehow miraculously “fall” onto the floor to be quickly snaffled. Stage three: the braai dish would need thoroughly cleaning, once any leftovers had been put into the fridge. And then the following morning, when she would never come in from her morning ablutions, and you’d go out to find her sitting expectantly under the braai, waiting to have a nice long go at the – now cool enough – grid.
No-one barked at the gardener today. Not that she would ever go any further than just barking. Her bark was only just worse than her bite, in that she would never actually bite anyone, and her bark was merely enthusiastic and never more than that.
There was no-one to join us on our short walk around the neighbourhood this afternoon. Even when she was feeling rubbish, she still loved to snorf the road.
But while it’s all these little things that hurt each time you do them, because she’s not here to do them with you anymore, it’s more just the feeling of emptiness and quiet in the house that feels the most alien. I still come downstairs each morning expecting to be greeted with a smiling face and a wagging tail as I go into the kitchen, and it’s repeatedly been a completely shit start to every day when I realise that’s not going to happen, whether that’s as I wake up or as I open the kitchen door.
And while I can’t wait to feel better, I also don’t want to feel better, because it somehow seems like that means that I’m forgetting about her or letting her go. Even though I’m not ever going to forget, and I’m not ready to let go.
Ag. It’s been a week and it still really hurts.