This morning, my mom called me from the hospital quietly crying to tell me my dad has to have yet another surgery, this time with tissue taken from his abdomen to make a patch to repair the hole in his lung. I can't even recall how many weeks he's been in the hospital consecutively. I know it's over five.
The vet's office called to tell me Kahlua's ashes are in and I can pick them up anytime. It's done. The last two months with her, it killed me to think of her beautiful fur burning. I can't think about it too much.
Sometimes, when the other dogs are being rowdy in the living room, they'll bump the Christmas tree, and I'll hear the bell that was on her collar jingle. Just for a second, I'll expect to see her coming toward me. Likewise, when I came home from work tonight, I half expected to find her waiting for me at the door.
She's gone.
I am pensive and quiet tonight. It's cold outside, finally winter, and I'm enjoying it. But I'm tired.
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