memento

Well, here I am. My house. Condo, actually. I own it, and this is where I live. Home. Got a bed; in fact, lots of furniture. Big comfy chair. Electronics, a toilet, kitchen appliances. I’ve lived here 4 years and 8 months, and I’d guess this is about the 5th time I’ve driven home and come inside to sleep all my myself. A few parties went late, and there was one midnight Easter service, and Mom and Dad kept Tasha those nights. So it felt very strange to leave a restaurant, where I was meeting with friends, and drive directly here. Nobody to pick up along the way.

This is my first night by myself since Tasha went on ahead. I could say she passed away, she died, but those terms belie the fact that she was put to sleep. It’s best to be oblique, or I’ll be tempted to blurt out some very misleading admission that I had her killed. I have some guilt over this, but probably not that much. As much as the dark shadows try to say otherwise, I did the right thing at the right time. A loving and very costly gift. So my guilt runs along the lines of wasted time and broken promises. “Maybe today we’ll go to the park.” That sort of thing. “Just let Kyle finish reading these e-mails, and I’ll give you a tummy rub.”

Anyway, I hung Tasha’s collar on the headboard of my bed. Seems like a good place for it to be, for a while. It seems a comfort there, a humble diadem to remind me of my spiritual truth: I am alone, and best get used to it. And if the tags begin to jingle, as they have so many thousand times, I’ll let you know.