Saturday, August 17, 2013

Let's Have Coffee

Let's have a cup of coffee. You would come over and I would have made us some sort of a snack. I would hope that you would be impressed with my coffee making skills and how I can make a cappuccino at home. But because it is summer we take some cold brew out onto the balcony. You tell me you like the plants. That my balcony feels like a tiny forrest in the middle of suburbia. There would probably be music playing, probably something that I knew wouldn't annoy you. Ginger Beagle would want to sit in your lap and you would indulge her. I would ask you about your day. About your new job or work in general. About your kids - if you had them. How are things going for you? 

You would return the questions in kind. You ask about the music I have on. You ask about the coffee we buy (because you know I love to tell you). And you might notice that I am intentionally trying to be upbeat. You might notice that our home is a little different. Quieter. That a spark might be missing. If Grant was home you might notice how much I hold his hand or put my head on his shoulder. You would know that we are still sad. 

The last few weeks have been so hard. Our home feels so different without our noisy Nyx beast keeping us on our toes. Losing a pet is never easy. I think it is especially hard when they are so young. Nyx got pancreatitis and she was gone before we even knew that she was really sick. There was hardly anything that we could have done. To make things harder, I was away in Georgia when it happened and Grant was here alone. 

We miss our growly baby. Our hellcat. I reach to pet her at night while we are in bed. I expect to see her at my feet in the kitchen while I am trying to cook. I have to keep an eye on her or else she will be bold and steal a piece of meat or bread from the countertop. I wait to hear her taunt the birds at the feeder. I hold my breath for the moment that she wants to be cuddly and comes to sit with us. 

So you hug me. You let me know that it is okay to feel this way. Losing a pet is just hard. You might tell me about your own experience with that. We both might cry a little. You decide to tell me a funny story about Nyx, because Nyx always gave us funny stories to tell. We laugh a little, maybe even a lot. We drink some more of our coffee on my balcony with the wind chimes playing. Inside, I am thanking you. 

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