So many things remind me of her-the dog of my heart, my best friend. My Maia.
Today, March 5th, would have been her 13th birthday. Instead she died in my arms last June when I had to free her from the cancer that was ravaging her body.
I think about her every day. Every time I chop broccoli-the stalks were her favorite. When I lie on the couch. She would curl up behind my legs, one leg over mine. Every night when she isn't there to curl against me and I can't slide my hand around her chest or beneath her chin.
Grief is pain, and I believe the deeper the love, the more painful the grief.
Maia was, for just over 12 years, my closest companion and dearest love. She was standoffish to most people. Only a few were allowed in her space. I was so fortunate to be the person she chose to love.
Maia was full of mischief and impossible to control. She chewed on furniture didn't listen, and refused to heel, ever. She jumped up and ate food off the counter, got overexcited and knocked people off balance (and sometimes off their feet). Some people didn't really like her.
But I loved her. With all my heart. She meant more to me than anything ever has other than my children and grandchild. When she died I cried harder than I've ever cried in my life. I held her in my arms and felt the life leave her body.
But that's not what I think about. I have so many pictures of her hilarious antics, and even more memories. That's what I think about. All the wonderful things about her, and our love for each other. How she perked up and her eyes glowed when she saw me. How my heart ached when we were apart and I felt so much better when she was with me again.
My heart hurts when I look ahead at all the empty days ahead without her. I'll never have another dog. Maia took my heart with her when she went last June. I have a cat, now. I can love him, but it's not the same.
It never can be.
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