Honey Bear came home today.
I am still in awe that somebody who was so big in my life and in my eyes can be made so small.
The box that she came home in is on her bed with a piece of bacon, a card, and her paw print.
I can’t bring myself to write happy poetry about her.
It’s still too soon.
Dear god, it’s too soon.
I need my friend, my confidant, my sister, my family, back.
Bring her back.
You give her back.
You vulture.
I know that she was sick.
And in pain.
But it’s still so hard to let someone so dear to you go.
That **** dog.
We’ve all cried as much as we did at Great Grama’s funeral.
Every day I am greeted by her empty bed.
I still expect her to come limping into my room, nudging the door open and laying down.
I have dreams where I stand at the door and call her name over and over again.
I wait for hours for her to come back.
But she never heeds my call.
Though, she never was good at listening.
And I think that maybe, if I get mom to call her name, she will come.
And I think, maybe, if I help mom search for her, we will find her, happy and healthy again.
Because moms can find anything and everything.
But what happens when she can’t find the pieces of your heart that Honey Bear took with her?