grief

grief. it's such an overwhelming emotion. it ranges the gambit; outright heartbreak, fear, anger, guilt. it appears to be the penultimate "bad" emotion.
it's beyond my rational mind. it's primal. it's consuming me.
i'm hoping that writing will help ease the tears. to tell someone how i feel rather than trying to rise above it, to be strong, to put her memory in a box. I need to verbalize this.

we are no longer one girl with two dogs. we lost the ever affectionate Kora Chops this weekend in an accident- a sting from a nasty texan insect.

Kora was my best friend. I know, it's sad. It's lame. She was a dog.
Kora was my companion. My constant companion. She was afraid of abandonment, and had to be physically touching me whenever I was home; resting her head on my knee or foot. She slept curled against my legs every night.
My husband travels often, 3-5 days a week.
I live in Texas; of the five couples we know in the state, the closest live 60 miles away. We do not keep in contact.
I have worked from home for the last three years, I do not attend any outside associations or clubs.

In the last three years, I've spent approximately 18 hours a day with her physically touching me, by my side. She was my saving grace, we walked, played and kept each other company over the years. If I was sad, she licked my tears and would clamber into my lap. When excited, we dashed around the house excited together.  If I was ignoring her, she'd sneeze at me. Over the past five months, she's curled against me and placed her head on my growing belly, seeming to understand the changes that were coming.

Now she's gone. The house seems so quiet. There is no jingle from her collar, no claws against the floor. No snuffing or signs of her tearing around the house. It feels like a nightmare. Like I'm sleep walking through a haze of pain and confusion.
I look around constantly for her. I see her toys, food bowls, dog beds; I expect her to be there. Out of instinct I reach for her. I find myself sitting, listening intently, not even realizing that I'm listening for her. I look for her in the windows when I'm outside. I start in the night without her familiar weight against my leg. When I return home, I open the garage door slowly so as not to hit her, before I realize she's not there waiting for my return.

I feel hollow. I feel empty. I feel lost. I do not know how to fill my days now. I do not know how to cope when Mark is away and the house is silent. I do not know how long I can continue in Texas, so far removed from everyone. I am heartbroken.

I feel angry. I feel as though I've been robbed. This wasn't supposed to happen.  She had fully recovered from such a horrible illness, she was so strong. I can't comprehend this to be truth.

I fear. I worry about Hercules, who has been hiding outside since this happened, that he will also be stung. I fear the unknown, the unexpected, the worst possible outcome. I'm terrified at the thought of Mark away from me and what could happen to him. I worry drastically over the baby in my stomach- that I will be unable to protect him from similar fates.

I feel so guilty. If only I had fed her immediately when I woke up instead of letting her run outside. If only we'd gone for a walk around the block that morning. If only I'd laid in bed five minutes longer. If only I hadn't let the pet sitters board her. If only we hadn't gone on vacation weeks ago. The butterfly effect-if only I hadn't lost her.

This is my grief. I cannot control it. The waves continue to wash over me. Hopefully the tides will subside in time.