my little filou,
It’s already been over 2 years since you have left us. You still leave an incredible hole in our home and our hearts.
Only toward the end of last year, I finally got rid of your old medication and your food. I haven’t taken down the sign at my door with your face on it. Every year, we use the reusable photo calendar with pictures of you on it. We have Christmas tree decorations with your face, too.
The time shortly after was rough. Then it got a little easier, slowly. It all felt like one big vacation you were on. You weren’t gone, just somewhere else, living your own life, traveling. But recently, it feels like it’s been too long, like someone you love who’s taking longer than usual to return home.
It feels like slowly losing touch because everything is changing, we are changing, and you can no longer witness it. We can’t see you change, either. We are no longer growing together, and it’s becoming more apparent with time. You’ll always stay stuck the way you were, and we increasingly become different people than we were with you. It’s so scary to feel like it all happened in a parallel universe.
Each walk we go on, we miss you and want you with us. It’s surreal to know we used to walk the same paths in the forest together.
I’m scared that with time, I will forget the way you felt, the way you smelled, and all your little quirks and silly behaviors. We have videos and we still have your fur, but it feels like it’s not enough.
Vigdís wrote a poem for you yesterday:
Grief is not a Liquid
Though it flows
Grief is not a Plant
Though it grows
Grief is not a Thorn
Though it stings
Grief is not a Bird
Though it sings
Grief is not a String
Though it tears
Grief is not a Fire
Though it sears
Grief is not a Robber
Though it takes
Grief is not a Mourner
Though it wakes
Grief is not a Stone
Though it weighs
Grief is not a Friend
But it stays
At least I can write about you so everyone knows you existed and you mattered.
Your Ava
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