I sat down to write a post about a memory of rain (an Old Friend From far Away prompt that I hope to get to later), but after the first paragraph I realized that I was writing about my dog. His death was a year ago next week and I have been sad about it since before Thanksgiving.
On the day that Rob proposed to me, it was sunny and warm and I woke up to the following note from my mom in the kitchen: "Megan, I did not feed Rocky or give his meds because he pooped all over and I was busy cleaning. Can you please feed him and make sure he goes out? He is pissed." I laughed because we had a routine, my mom and Rocky and I, and if she didn't feed him and take him out before she left for the gym then yeah, no doubt he was pissed off about it. He had such a personality within him that I always joked that he kind of made me believe in the possibility of reincarnation.
I get a monthly email newsletter from a medium, and she once wrote that our pets visit us frequently after they pass away. I held on to that thought so hard after Rocky died--I pictured him curled up at the foot of my bed, maybe totally confused about being in Minnesota, but nonetheless happy to be near me again. And when I run I like to imagine that he's with me, full-force and off-leash, thrilled to no longer be limping about weakly.
He fished, cuddled, boated, and ate everything in sight for fifteen really fun years, and I sincerely believe that I'll see him again one day. I just miss him now.