It’s been around three months, give or take a few days or weeks, that this place in the world went dark. I am not counting. There is no point in counting the eternity that Manni will be gone from me so I won’t even start.

It literally went dark here that month. It was the darkest December since the beginning of weather records apparently and it didn’t come as a surprise to me but I’m sure it wasn’t helpful either. I have been scrambling to get my bearings again. So much of myself was defined by Manni, was defined by the extended hospice care. Did you know that you can easily fill a whole day with the administration of medicine, trying to force your mind to make mental images that can last a lifetime, trying to make every day count, trying to create memories, planning field trips for your dog so he would have only good days, preparing for the worst day and yet not breaking outwardly at the pressure of knowing when it’s time? Did you know that this can not only fill a whole day but make a whole day not be enough?

I didn’t know, but I learned.

And then, despite of all your mental preparation, you are left with a big black hole. The kind that consists of dark matter and that just sucks you in, leaves you alone in the dark devoid of everything that defined you before.

After what felt like days, although it may have been weeks, I felt that people were trying to tell me I have to move on. I don’t blame them, I’m sure they were right, but they didn’t exactly tell me how to do that, either. I can handle that. I have a public face that I put on, I can laugh, I smile at the right times. What does really get me, though, is what has only been happening the last few weeks. It’s a thing I was expecting and yet a thing I was scared to death of: the loss of the crispness of the memories, the clarity of the pictures.

It all fades. What once used to be a high-definition laser-printed impression in your mind turns slowly but surely into a watercolor painting with blurry edges. It kills me that while I know Manni had the softest fur in the world I don’t actually recall the literal feel of it, that I just know that I always loved his unique scent but I don’t really remember what he would smell like when I pressed my nose into the soft fur just behind his ears. I have lost people in my life before so I knew this would happen but it still kills me. Every single day it does.

I have been going through all of the different media I have to find all pictures and videos that were ever taken of Manni. They have made me laugh, they have made me cry. They have confirmed what I already knew: my dog had a good life. I gave him a good life. I don’t doubt that, nor do I doubt my decision or the timing of letting him go forever. That is the one thing I am at peace with. If I only knew now that he is in a place filled with light I would be happy to stay in the dark.

Here’s a few of my latest findings from way back when



Manni has moved on and so does life. I suppose that is a good thing and I will update here in a few days. I did need to get this off my chest, however, and nothing has proved as cathartic as writing.