Time, where did you go?

"and why did you leave me here alone?"

I listened to these lyrics on the way back to my apartment today after spending a few days with my family. Today marks 5 months since Ernie was euthanized.

I cried for what felt like hours. It was a nice thing, to be alone after days of company and family and friends and food. Lots and lots of food. But at the same time, I didn't want room to breathe. I didn't want to be alone. It seems pretty pathetic to drive for miles down the interstate, replaying the same sad song on your iPod while tears stream down your face, but it can be awfully healing when you have nothing else to grab onto.

I still haven't been able to bring myself to take down the wooden sign Donnie made for his stall door, proudly displaying his name in John Deere green and yellow. I look at it every day, and every time I've felt like I'm ready, I choose not to. I have forced myself to sell some of his old things: blankets, exercise wraps, and his bridle. I guess it's part of the healing process, parting with the possessions, if you will, of a loved on, but I didn't and don't want to. I made myself because money is tight and hanging onto things for no good reason is silly. I am keeping his bit, though...

Eventually, I'd like to get a nice oak or cedar chest, just a small one, labeled with a engraved plate on the cover containing Ernest in beautiful script letters. In it I want to put all the photos I have of him, the shoes I pulled from his front feet that morning, the lock of his mane and the piece of his tail, his halter and the only leadrope he ever had in the 9 years I had him (I fixed that thing so many times it's ridiculous). I also have, as silly as it seems, the duct tape label with "Ernie" in big black letters that we placed above the bar that held his blankets. I kept it because it was the only blanket label out of all the ones we put up that stuck to the wall all winter. Donnie and I found it this summer, still right where we'd put it over a year and a half ago. I like to think it's a testament to his strength and toughness.

I miss him. Every day, I miss him. I don't always know it but there are moments when I get a wave of raw emotion, the kind that races up your spine and slaps you in the face, leaving you feeling overwhelmed and like you've been hit by a Mac truck. The tears don't always come immediately, and sometimes not at all. Sometimes you just sit quietly for a moment, remembering, feeling, and remembering some more. It's then you realize the memories aren't enough. That's when the tears start flowing.

God bless you, Ernest. You can never be replaced, not in this lifetime or any of the ones that follow.