This House Is Not A Home

The last four days have been so painful. The constant stomach clench of grief has returned. It just sits with me and sometimes bursts into ugly cries. I miss my sweet dog so much. The house does not feel like home without him in it.

There are the obvious moments where I miss him – waking up in the morning and not hearing his paws slowly crossing the floor to come greet me; at night when I get treats for the cat, but not him, to come snuggle in bed. But there are odd moments where it pains me too, like after I feed the cat her wet food at night. Normally, I’d bring the spoon to Moose so he could lick it. Now I have to rinse it. Or when I’m making dinner and drop some food on the floor. Now I have to pick it up. There are also the horrible moments, like yesterday, when it unexpectedly snowed four inches in the night. So I grabbed my coat to wear to work. The same coat I propped under Moose’s head as he was dying. I didn’t wash it. Didn’t think to wash it. And didn’t realize it until I was already halfway to work and caught a whiff of the coat. It smelled like Moose dying. It was such a potent smell. I cried as I walked into work and asked the school nurse if we could wash it. I couldn’t get the smell off me all day.

In between these moments, I’m just in a house. It doesn’t feel like my home. There’s a generous, kind, goofy and sweet soul missing. He took up so much space in my life. The gaping hole has left me hollow.

Now, I just want to put Rosie the cat in the car and start driving. I want to leave everything behind. But running away won’t really solve anything. So instead, I’m selling the house and moving back east. I submitted my letter of resignation yesterday. I’m applying for jobs across the country. I’m “decluttering”, at the advise of my realtor – which, can I just say is insane because the house looks soooo much better with X gone?!?! But I’m decluttering even more. I’m getting the carpet replaced and painting the ceilings. Next week I’ll have a painting party to paint the walls. Then photos are taken and the house is listed.

It’s a lot. But I don’t feel attached to the house now. Without Moose, it isn’t my home. Strange how the house feels more empty after Moose died than after X left. That’s just how amazing my dog was – he filled in the empty space. I miss him so terribly.

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