Today marks six years since Ramón took his last breaths, and the grief feels heavier this go-round. My own breaths grow shallow as I type these words.
I suspect the sorrow is greater because, within the past year, I had to say goodbye to two of the dogs that comprised our little family: beagles Noodle, 15, and Magpie, 20.
My life with Ramón is slowly disappearing as its pieces fall away. I know this is a natural occurrence—the passage of time. But, oh, does my heart long to hold tightly onto what remains. As I folded laundry the other day, I realized there was only one shirt Ramón would recognize. And though those little reminders hurt, they add a certain depth to life.
I’m reading a book, The Wild Edge of Sorrow by Francis Weller; I heard about it on Anderson Cooper’s “All There Is” podcast. It includes a poem that perfectly captures my grief, and I shared it in a previous post. However, I’ve handwritten it here as well.
Also, here’s a gem from Francis Weller himself:
Grief is akin to praise; it is how the soul recounts the depth to which someone has touched our lives. To love is to accept the rites of grief.
Today, and every day, I think about Ramón with painful joy—the joy prevailing.
And I praise him with every tear that sneaks out of the corner of my eye.
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