Yesterday we had to put down my dog.
His name was Oliver, he was 7 years old, and he was the noblest dog I’ve ever met. He never, ever, harmed any other creature, man or animal. He even left me take food out of his mouth. He’s a four legged angel now, I guess. All dogs go to Heaven. I’ll believe in Heaven for him.
Jorge left on Friday. I said goodbye to him outside the restaurant because I had errands to run. Also, because if I had stayed, I would have cried like crazy, and I didn’t want him to see me like that. He knows that I’ve cried the whole weekend, but one thing is knowing and the other is being there. He doesn’t deal well with those kinds of situations.
I’m infinitely sad, I am not sure how or why I keep functioning. I think some how a weird sense of responsibility keeps me doing things.
I just want to stay in bed and cry all day long.