Why does it still hurt this much? Today after chores I am going to pick up Lainey one last time, except she won’t be looking at me with her smiling face or asking to come over and sit in my lap or putting her feet on the armrest to look out the window. All that she will be is ashes in a box. Why isn’t this getting easier? Why can’t I sleep at night? How does a little 9 pound dog take up so much space in my heart that it feels broken?

I keep telling myself to stop! That it’s enough, but I can’t stop. As soon as my mind gets quiet, I see her face. I start to remember everything about her, all that we did together, and I feel like I can’t stop crying. At some point, won’t I run out of tears? I mean, she’s just a dog, right? But she’s not, she was my constant companion. She slept next to me; I fell asleep listening to her little snores. I woke up and was soothed by her breathing and her body snuggled up to my back. Night chores were our special time together because we had the barn to ourselves. We had a rhythm, a connection, and a shared joy of everything outside. We had a quiet friendship, and she asked nothing from me. everywhere I went, she went as well, quietly supporting me. I would see her out of the corner of my eyes, turn my head and look at her and be amazed that her eyes were on me, just waiting for me to see her. She was always checking in and she dedicated her entire life to being my dog. I often would notice that about her and wonder how did God think I deserved a dog like her? Where did this loyalty come from? This love she had for me? Her love was pure and never hurtful. I never took advantage of her love, I always was afraid that someday she would be gone and her love gone with her. I wish I could turn back time and get another stare, a turning of my head, and then eye contact ending with her ears perking up and her body ready to jump up and go with me to our next adventure, even if it was just to walk into a different room.

This is so hard. Why is it so hard? Today I’m picking her up, she’s riding shotgun in my truck for the last time and going through the Taco Bell drive thru. We’re coming home together, but she won’t be at my feet begging for her part of our taco. She will be on a shelf, quiet as a mouse, and I will never again feel her eyes of love on me again.

I keep trying to pull myself up by my bootstraps, but I am afraid my bootstraps might be broken.