Under A Little Sapling

I've always thought that I'd have to be careful when my dog died. I assumed that people would dismiss that sort of grief and expect it to be less. I knew there would be some people who understood and I'd have to be careful to stick close to them and steel myself against the others. I have found that to be wholly untrue up to this point. The only even marginally questionable comment was "Sounds like you need a puppy." I think we can all praise my fortitude in biting back, "No, actually I don't need a puppy I need my fucking dog back and that's not god damned well going to happen now is it?" But that was only one comment I know it was meant to be helpful.

I wrote yesterday about living in my own version of Stars Hollow. At the time I thought I was just being funny or at least exaggerating a little. I'm not too proud to admit I was really wrong.

Queen Bee is on her way to visit me right now. She was planning to come this weekend anyway but moved up her arrival when Emily passed, after giving me the option of coming up to visit her instead if I needed to be away from home. After writing two beautiful tributes to my girl Kath fed me dinner on Saturday then took over the hosting of Southern Girls Supper Club for Tuesday so I wouldn't feel I had to clean and we wouldn't have to cancel. It was just the right thing to sit in a room full of dog ladies who knew and loved Miss Em and just be. And eat. It's easier to eat if the food just appears. Yesterday Chrome took her lunch break to hike over to my office from hers and deliver time, an ear, cupcakes, champagne and poetry magnets from her and Zelda. Teddy's Girl offered me a walk with Teddy. Ulserad, who lives up north near the Bees, ran into Queen Bee and heard what had happened so while I sat at home last night alone, not having to go out and walk my dog the bell rang and it was UPS delivering me a bouquet of multi-colored roses because he "thought [I] could use a little color in my life" right now. A couple of hours later he called and we shot the shit for a long time, which we haven't done probably since at least the beginning of the baseball season. The people who have called, e-mailed, texted, blogged and commented to make sure that I'm still upright and moving forward are too numerous to list here but no less appreciated. It's clear to me that if the internet were a quirky Connecticut town we would all be squished into my little peach colored house eating burgers and cupcakes and washing dishes and some version of Luke would be delivering ice and helping me dig a grave in the back yard.

Thanks for that. Thanks to all of you. I can't tell if I'm getting better or just getting used to feeling this bad. Right now I don't think that matters. Looks like you don't either and I appreciate that.