It’s been almost two weeks now since Remy left us. My cousins went home last Wednesday, and since then, I’ve been trying to get back to normalcy. Except that normalcy is now a new and different normalcy. I have been sleeping better, but I still find myself getting up in the middle of the night, stepping carefully by my bed so as to not step on Remy. Yesterday afternoon, I heard the doggie door and for a split second I wondered whether it was Remy or Martin climbing through. When it’s time for breakfast or dinner, Martin hardly even let’s me know that he’s hungry. He’s always been the patient one, waiting for Remy to sound the dinner bell with her monkey noises.

I find myself doing weird mental games too. Like the other day, I was thinking about how fortunate I was that someone turned in my new iPhone after I’d left it at the comedy club. I was so stressed about losing it, and yet, if I could trade that stupid phone for having Remy back, even with all her middle-of-the-night wake-ups, I would. I know, why does my brain make these kind of barters? They don’t make any sense. One has absolutely nothing to do with the other really. I suppose it’s just the selfish part of me wishing she were still here at all cost. I know she gave us everything she had. I know the final years were a real struggle for her. I know it was time. And yet, I sometimes feel so inconsolable in my grief. Death is a weird thing that way. As inevitable and as expected as it is, when it finally happens, the impact is just so goddamn overwhelming. Remy never talked to me in the same thoughtful, engaging, intellectual, and conversational way my human besties did, but she was always with me, waiting for me and welcoming me home. Even when I was busy or traveling or moody or just plain absent-minded, she never got upset or spiteful or angry. She asked for so little and gave so damn much. She was so much more attuned to me than I ever even realized. Yeah, I’m probably anthropomorphising here. A little. I feel such emptiness and sadness. I just don’t know how to let go.

I ran into my next door neighbor this afternoon, and I could barely keep my composure explaining that we had put Remy down on April 1. The vet office mailed me a letter and bill saying that Remy’s ashes are ready for pickup. It seems like a simple enough task to swing by and pick up her ashes, and a part of me feels rather ridiculous worrying about a minor meltdown. I feel like I should be able to do this without incident. I intend to try tomorrow. We’ll see.