The Pug is Gone

Today it was an advertisement in Gourmet that reopened my grief. A pug sat on a stool in the corner of the room. I looked at it with tear-filled eyes, breathing slow and steady to maintain control. I was on a Southwest Airlines flight to Corpus Christi. It didn't seem like the right place to sob my heart out.

Sure the ad took me by surprise, but if I'm completely honest, I've been prodding at my sadness on a regular basis. Like touching your tongue to a chipped tooth, I keep poking at it to ensure it's still there. And just like the chipped tooth, sometimes it seems just a minor flaw. And then there are times it feels like I am going to need dentures.

I had to put the pug down last Tuesday.

My days are now filled with freedom and "lasts." I can come and go as I please. I can go all day and night and never stop by my house if I so choose. I don't have to worry about getting a sitter for my weekend when I'll meet some friends on a houseboat in the Atchafalya Basin at the end of the month. I've vacuumed the last hair from my car and the rug. Yesterday I moved the rolling wine rack and swept up the last of the kibble. My floors are no longer a minefield of accidents.

So many things I often wished for (or wished for the absence of) and yet all I can think of is "The pug is gone." I walk through the front door and instead of calling out "Hey lambchop!" I look at the spot where his bed used to be and register the emptiness of my home.

My cousin came by Sunday. Fresh with inspiration from Church services she offered condolences and understanding. In a particular low moment when I was honest about my grief, she tried to help by saying "He did not define you."

I beg to differ. My love and care for him certainly did define me in many ways. Sure, there is a lot more to me. But I have lost a significant part of my life. For 14 years he and I were family. Now I have to adjust to being single.

Friends and family have been great, trying hard to be there for me. But the truth is, I have to adjust to handling this alone. For I am alone for the first time in so many years.

My friends used to say the best part of the Bubala was his ears. They were velvety and softer than soft. I loved rubbing his ears. But that wasn't his best part by far. To me, it was his heart. When I would leave the house, he would lay inches from the front door simply waiting for my return. I learned to slowly inch the front door open when coming in for fear of smacking him in the face. When I was in the shower he would walk up to the door and peak in to ensure I was still there. I had dog beds in every room to accomodate his need to be near me at all times.

The pug is gone. His velvet ears and magnificent heart now live only in my memory. And I am painfully having to redefine myself.