July 2, 2011
There are patterns within my grief. I pick apart the minutia of seemingly plain happenstances. Digging deeper to answer why, even when not asked. (How does one state that they killed their twenty year old cat without it sounding purposeful or requiring tears?) I don't see him anywhere. My dog died in my arms and I barely dream about him. I sat in multiple rooms with my father's dead body and minimally saw him in shiny bald heads. I haven't so much as even seen my best friends gravestone and I nearly cause traffic accidents from thinking I've seen her.