I've been struggling the past two weeks with the idea that "life goes on". Honestly, I thought if anyone said that to me I might punch them. For me the idea of life going on equals forgetting. In my head I know that's not true, but telling it to my irrational heart is another matter entirely.
But the night before we lost Preacher I got a new foster puppy. A six week old pit bull baby we named Della Street (I've been on a huge Perry Mason run lately). Because I was scheduled to leave for an art show in Kansas early the next morning Della went to stay with my best friend until I got home. Needless to say the I didn't end up leaving town...but bringing a puppy into the house was difficult to wrap my brain around. I think Tom was feeling the same way though we were both having trouble putting words to our thoughts. But after about a week we decided to give it a go.
I'm not gonna lie, it's been a challenge. At first I had zero bonding going on. Oddly I think I kind of resented her. I know that is awful, but it's honest. I feel terrible about it now, but you never know how you are going to process things like this and while I wish I would have felt different, it is what it is.
As you can see I have gotten past the walls I had built up with this puppy. I've totally bonded with her, I adore her, and I've found some peace in cuddling with her and talking to her while she sleeps. The other night we laid in bed and I told her all about Preacher. I explained to her that she has the potential to be someone's Preacher...to make a family as happy as he made us. It's an amazing thing really, the potential life for this little thing. She has it in her to make someone's life feel whole, to be a part of a family, to be loved more than life itself, to be the end-all-be-all in someone's world. Just like Preacher was for us. It's all right there in that tiny six pound body.