I fear death. I fear it not in the usually brave, tame, hesitant way. I fear it with impassioned distress.
To lose a loved one is an end of a delightful story. To see a story end when you have to continue without it, living your story without a crucial wedge to prop you up, you stumble a little; sometimes a lot.
Layla, our dog of 12 years died today and she’s left us immensely sad.
Barely 2 months old, she came to us a sweet bundle of fluff and charm. Over the years, she became a companion to my parents and her senior FooChoo. Dogs are meant to be companions — they take that road easy, nothing new about that. But to someone who experiences their particular brand of friendship, they are irreplaceable.
Layla remains in our hearts. As we wait to bury her tomorrow in the garden she so merrily enlivened with her antics and very-dog enthusiasm, our hearts are breaking. Tonight is going to be long night.