Under the cloudy sky
“Pull yourself together”, said me to myself as I breakdown into another episode of unstoppable cry.
I’ve became an expert of counting days — very biblical habit — as I count all the days or months of not doing my thesis and every passing days since my beloved pet dog passed away.
I count the times to measure how long:
- will I finally continue my thesis
- will I finally stop grieving over my late dog
Maybe I need to stop counting because:
- there’s no need to count, I just need to continue it and get it done
- grief. lasts. forever
I must be crazy to insert that picture because I promised myself not to cry just for this day, and I’m crying now. I miss her so much, I don’t know what to do with this overwhelming sorrow. I want it to end and the only way I could think of is; to follow her… to eternity.
As much as I know what to do and not to do, I cannot bring myself to do the right things.
I keep remembering the happier days when she was still alive. Or about her last moments; the way her body trembled when I held her one last time, the way I wailed, screamed, begged, and cried when God really took her away. I’m lost inside the labyrinth of memories and unable to find the exit route, because what if I get out and the sadness will turn into emptiness instead of happiness?
I know I must function, somehow. I must finish my thesis, get the degree, and find a job. But how?
How, when the second I arrived home from work I peek inside the front door expecting her to run into me wagging her tail? How, when the hours I spend in front of my laptop, I sense the void of the spot she used to be. When the minutes before going to bed I check into her room because she used to ask for a midnight snack? When the time the sun rises I dread the idea of opening my eyes and not see her around…?
I don’t understand why she had to go when she clearly brought so much light into my and my family’s life. It was getting better. Home and all. Why?
I barely bring myself to do daily chores, so how do I do my thesis? I’m only able to cook instant noodle because the longer I stay in the kitchen, the more I miss her who used to accompany me cooking. I can’t mop the floor, I even hardly look at those floors she used to sit on. I don’t take care of my plants anymore because she used to drink the water. I cry everytime I help Mom hang the clothes or wash the dishes because she used to poo and pee on the same time I do those things. I often close my eyes in the bathroom because my mind will wander to those times I bath her.
The only thing I can process is that everything feels deeply painful so I want to end it. I can’t seem to think about facts other than that…
Maybe flowers will grow
on every spots
you used to be
every spots
I pour my tears day by day
