In Memoriam

There will come a day that we will vacuum up the last of your hair that was always such a nuisance.

There will be no apologies about the state of the backseat of the car and no wincing after I hear the door bell because of the roar of barking that I know comes right after.

There will come a day when I can stay out with friends for as many hours as I want without a care 

and a night where there is no song and dance at the back door while I stand barefoot in the freezing cold and try to lure you back into the house so I can go to bed.

I will fill one less bowl with food, leave less lights on when no one’s home, have less toes stepped on, and I will go on vacations without a second thought. 

But coming home will never be the same again. Walking in the front door will feel deafeningly silent, and boring, and wrong.

The carpets and floors will look sterile.

Silence will ring so much louder than the little charm on your collar.

I will never feel as special or as unconditionally loved for just existing.

I will still drop purposeful crumbs by accident and feel sad when they’re not quickly consumed.

I will struggle to find a piece of decor that looked better than your water bowl.

The couch we always wanted but didn’t get for the risk of it getting ruined will quickly lose its appeal 

and the one with a dent in your favorite spot will be the only one we want.

The little bite marks in the crown molding will be a cherished memory rather than an eyesore.

We will stop being hung up on every last scratch in the hardwood and wonder which scratch in the hardwood was your last.

I will no longer feel pulled to go for walks in the rain or have a literal reason to stop and smell the roses.

There will come a day that a lot of the things I’ve complained about time and time again will get easier 

…and It will be one of the hardest days to ever come.