A small part of me still thinks that Lucas is just in the other room, that I’ll hear him hopping around or pinning Coop or crying because Newt is blocking his way to the water dish.
He will have been gone two weeks tomorrow, and I find myself still waiting for him to come home. Like he’s just at doggy daycare or the vet or something. Not gone gone.
First, thank you all for the kindnesses. We are touched. Blown away, really. I’ve read every comment, email, Facebook message, and tweet, and I just haven’t had the heart to think through replies yet. I will soon, but thank you for all the love and thoughtfulness and generosity.
We threw ourselves into the move only days after he passed. We were unconsciously waiting until he left us to complete the move, I think. We kept him with his familiar routines and with his vet and among his most loved friends. Once he was gone, after a couple days, we realized it was time. So, we packed up our entire house, hired some movers, and… well… moved! I sit here surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, but we’re slowly settling in.
In the past two weeks, I missed a number of things. I missed Cooper’s Gotcha Day (belated letter coming soon) and the flip of the Pinups for Pitbulls calendar to Mr. November’s month (our calendar story coming soon) and lost Newt’s puzzle toy (final post about her AvoDerm trial coming soon).
But mostly I missed Lucas.
His not being here, his lack of presence, is even louder and clumsier than when he was here. I feel it in the shape of our day, of our routines. My, how suddenly and drastically things changed. I’m putting together the rough shape of that story for you for another day. First those other three things, I think, while I put my thoughts in order to adjust the new shape of our Lucas-less life.
I cringe when the UPS truck drives by, just bracing myself for a barking, lunging, snarling tirade, then feel sad when it doesn’t come.
I find myself standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding onto the cat food spoon, the spoon that we use to scoop out Newt’s dinner that Lucas licked every single night because he ate the fastest and knew to hop over and get his licks before his brothers finished their kibble.
The cat food spoon reminds me he’s gone and I miss him and I hate putting that dang spoon in the dishwasher.
Thank you for all the loving kindness, the understanding, the compassion. We’re finding the new shape of our days and are forever grateful for you.