I woke up today without realizing the date. I’ve been going through so much of a funk lately that I’ve been feeling confused and bewildered. Days and times have been escaping me, as have things I’m supposed to do, and just general functioning. Weirdly enough, my work hasn’t suffered. Just everything else.
Waking up today, I filled myself with a mug of tea and ate some cereal and a protein bar. I felt good, rested even, and as I set about my morning routine, I was suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of sadness. I tried pushing it down; distracting myself from its thorny presence and pretending that it wasn’t rising through my lungs and into my throat. Then I thought about Punk, as I do every morning. At that moment, a whirlwind of emotions hit me. Violently.
Today is Punk’s 2nd anniversary. He passed away at 5:10 p.m on an otherwise sunlit and warm end-of-summer day. 2020 took so much from us, didn’t it? And then it took some more.
It is funny how time manipulates. It moves too fast so that you can’t breathe, and it slows until you’re barely moving at all. Grief is no different. Sometimes it feels like he was in my arms yesterday, snoring like the old grump that he was, and other times it feels like a really, really long time since I’ve seen him. Years, in fact. Maybe decades.
Either way, my precious boy remains just that - precious. Whether here or not, surrounding EZ and me with his buoyant spirit, I miss him. I miss him so very much. I miss and love him, and despite the impossible, I want my boy back. Even just for one more day. One more snuggle. One more attitude.
Wasn't he gorgeous?
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