Although technically a short week,

it feels like one of the longest on record.

That tends to happen when Monday is a holiday. It’s as though by taking out one day, the rest of the week decides to cram all of the work into the days remaining.

So while Monday was off, I spent most of it catching up on odds and ends of paperwork and continuing education that needed to be done.

Supper with family was nice, and by the time I returned home we were all ready for bed.

We had a good weekend in the mountains where I’d learned things, attempted to skate for the first time outside with the children; Matt firmly objected and after two tentative steps forced me to carry him.

Skating is apparently something we shall do inside from now on but to be fair, it was freezing.

I slept poorly on Monday due to a combination of my loved ones and their ongoing issues with congestion, leading to snoring.

And then Tuesday woke to the strangest noise.

At first, I thought it sounded like something mechanical had been left on downstairs.

Like the time our water filter ran dry and just made a grinding noise, or as if perhaps something was rhythmically hitting against something soft.

When I saw the dog on the couch, she looked like she was sleeping

and then I realized she wasn’t.

The rest of the night was spent awake and wondering,

until I heard the news in the morning.

Our almost 11-year-old family friend crossed the rainbow bridge that night.

Although we watched her as she aged,

and knew that her time was around a corner somewhere,

we didn’t expect it to be now.

But then again,

you never do

and that’s why it’s always so hard to say goodbye.

Even when it’s expected,

it’s a quick slap in the face from the great beyond.

I looked up the Rainbow Bridge poem to share with my devastated little ones.

They’d never lost anyone they cared about before, and losing their first and only dog creates tears ans recriminations.

The four-year-old continually repeating dead, heaven, and it’s not fair.

Yes, Matt, you’re right. It isn’t fair and I’m mad about it too.

But in the end what can we do?

Maybe we can have a little memorial, or make a book to remember her by. Then along with all the other family memories, it’ll go on the shelf to be pulled out from time to time, and we’ll smile when we remember the silly things she used to do.

But for now, work awaits, along with responsibilities.

Life goes on as if nothing has changed.

But as anyone who’s ever lost a pet or a human loved one knows,

everything changed in that instant,

and now we’ll have to figure out what home is like

without her there.

RIP, Jewels.

2008- Feb 20, 2019