One hundred and twenty-two days without Bandit.
Not that I’m counting, or anything.
Because believe me, I’m doing okay. I’m really doing pretty okay. But I do have the days when I don’t do okay. It’s odd, because I never see it coming. And the sadness normally overwhelms me at night. I miss having Bandit as my blanket when I sleep. I miss hearing him snoring. I miss him waking me up every hour in the middle of the night to go outside.
In case you missed it, I got married last month. So it’s been very good for me to be living in an environment that Bandit never occupied. It’s a fresh start. But when I go back home to my parent’s, I still look for him at the top of the steps. And the first place I go is to my old room, where I have his urn safely on my bed; his favorite spot.
But my heart still holds sadness.
The first time I noticed that my parent’s removed his food dishes I had a mini-fit. I know that they couldn’t stay there forever, but his dishes proved to me that Bandit was there. It was really hard to see them go. It’s hard to let Bandit go.
My husband keeps telling me that next year we can get a dog. And a part of me really wants to have that unconditional fur-baby love back into my life. But another part of me just isn’t ready. It’s a process and I’m getting through it. Day by day.
One hundred and twenty-two days later I’m laughing more at the memories. Going through his pictures I can smile at my goofy boy rather than cry over my loss. It’s a journey and I’m traveling through it.