...
Every night, I would touch the box the holds Porter's ashes. I would picture him in my mind and tell him that I loved him.
My intention was to keep him close, and to keep his face sharp in my memory. I was so scared it would fade.
But too often when I pictured him, my brain would reach into the shadows and return the scene of Porter's death.
I meant to keep a happy ritual, but instead, it kept me locked in grief. It kept me tethered to death.
Every single night.
...
One day, I realized this was happening. And I realized that my ritual wasn't serving me well. So I don't say goodnight to his ashes anymore. Instead, I hung a picture next to my desk, and I look at it.
This picture.
This is Porter, enjoying his walk, at the very moment he realized that I was taking him to his favorite place: Frick Park. His eyes are brimming with excitement. I can just imagine that he's thinking, "I can't believe I get to do this!"
That's how Porter, who survived a lifetime of violent abuse, seemed to approach our life together: "I can't believe I get to do this."
He couldn't believe he got to sleep on such a comfy couch, or enjoy so many delicious foods. As my little rescue dog grew plumper and happier, he seemed to be grateful and eager for every moment.
That's the feeling that I want to keep close to me. So I don't say goodnight to ashes anymore. Now, I make myself say,
"I can't believe I get to do this!"
And I really can't. I can't believe I get to come home to the man of my dreams, and the delicious salad he prepared for me tonight. I can't believe we get to sleep in on weekends, and take naps if we want, and stay up late watching old TV shows together with our devoted dog. I can't believe we have as much as we do.
I can't believe my family survived so much, and loves me so steadfastly.
I can't believe this summer is so sweet.
I'm grateful and eager for every moment.
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| ❤️ |
