Yesterday, my daughter turned 11. This time last year, we were bubbling with the momentous change of age from a single digit to two digits. Now, with a year of experience in the two digit zone, she is hitting another mile stone- turning eleven.
e-LE-ven. Now I have to say three syllables when talking about my daughter. It was easy to refer to her as “my ten year old,” which flew off the tip of my tongue. Now it’s e-LE-ven. e-LE-ven. Sounds uneven.
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I’ve been in a funk, and I don’t want to get out of it.
I’ve felt this weight on my chest, and today it feels like it’s on my face. To be fair, it’s been an appendage for most of my life. I felt it acutely when I was a teenager. It almost killed me. Now, at 49, it’s mellower, but still makes its presence known.
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Today would have been my beloved dog’s second birthday. He was hit by a logging truck on Oct. 6, 2022 due to human negligence. His death left a hole in my heart. I wrote the following piece for a presentation at my library called My Story.
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It has been five weeks since my 16 month old dog Melfi was suddenly hit by a truck.
He hasn’t come back to me, even though I’ve wanted him to, if only in spirit.
I heard that sometimes animals and other loved ones come back after their passing. I’ve shooed away other spirits when I’ve felt scared, but I wanted Melfi.
MoreHe’s supposed to be here.
That’s what I keep thinking.
He’s supposed to be under the covers right now. He likes to go under the covers, over the covers, under the covers, over the covers. He woke me up many nights, but I would do anything to have that back. I would do anything to hear his grunts again, to feel his head perched on my neck, to see him curled in a ball and his big eyes looking up at me.
He was our dog, Melfi. Our 16 month old German Shorthair Pointer that was run over by a truck last Thursday. He died instantly. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I can’t help feeling like he’s supposed to be here.
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