Mourning a Moment

I do love to travel. I do love new places, new experiences. I can’t imagine living in one place for more than five years. But sometimes having the whole world as your home sucks.

Over winter break, there has been a gaping hole in the house: My dog, Rosey, who we put to sleep in July. I left right after she was buried. I’ve spent a lot of time at home loving on Melly (my sister’s dog), a lot of time playing with her to help heal how much I miss my dog. But I knew before I left for my last semester at Berry I needed to go visit the spot Rosey was buried

Melly and I sat on the porch, looking down at the ivy and the little corner of yard where Rosey lies. My family will be moving again a matter of weeks–a new home now, probably a new city in the next couple of months.

I haven’t lived in this house, not unless you count a couple of weeks every winter as living. I’m not very partial to it. I think it’s damp and dark and my room smells weird.

But sitting out there with Melly, looking at the place my dog will stay, I felt a tearing in my heart. I felt adrift. Barring a bizarre turn of events, I will never sit in that same spot again. I’ll never see this yard again. I’ll go on, leaving another house for other people to fill with their memories.

I looked over my shoulder at the porch chair, remembering a sunny spring break in 2011 when I curled up with a novel, Rosey snuggling on my lap with her head on my arm while she slept. We just read quietly together for several hours. Now she is gone, and soon I will be, too.

I thought about Patch, buried in MS. And Dusty, in FL. Both good dogs I’ve had to say goodbye to in the past. Both markers of a change, bookends on a period of my life.

It seems like each time I move I leave something behind, buried.

Already the tear in me is numbing, fading away. I’ve moved too often to be really afraid of the change. But as chapters keep closing and new doors open, I find myself mourning for the houses and rooms and moments I’ll never revisit. Then again, even if our houses were ours forever, monuments to us, I wouldn’t get those days back.


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