The Grief of Dog

When my ninety-two-year-old mother

died (granted we had a strained

relationship), I felt sad that

things could not have been

other.

When my ninety-eight-year-old mother-

in-law died (granted we had an

un-strained relationship), I felt

very sad because it

reminded

me of the tragic death of her daughter, my

late wife, over whom I cried three-

hundred-sixty-five days straight

and a gazillion eighteen-wheeler

loads of tears in the

eighteen years

since.

When my eighty-seven-year-old mother-in-law

by my wonderful wife died, we met for

a memorial service eight states away

and enjoyed the

fellowship.

When my ninety-three-year old father-in-law

died, I watched the immediate

family

cry.

Now I sit and watch my one-hundred-fifteen-year-

old Chocolate Lab limp, cough, breathe

laboriously, sleep fitfully and I, in

anticipatory grief,

convulse.

1 thought on “The Grief of Dog

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