Crossing the Rainbow Bridge
He was the first, the first of any dog I’ve had to let go, and the landscape of grief is unfamiliar terrain to me. It’s a strange, sometimes terrifying place and I’m here without a flashlight or good boots and I’m just doing my best to stumble through. I think I’m doing better, but just when I’m feeling really solid a friend will send me a text or something will come in the mail that sends me into a gale of tears again. I’ve cried every day since he died, sometimes endlessly, other times just a few pretty tears as I’ve maintained control, and some strange part of me fears that the day I don’t cry is the day I’m disloyal to him.