Heartbeat

It's hard to be sad when you have a new puppy, but I manage. I'm packing up my apartment to move on Wednesday, and that involves dealing with your stuff, and with you.

I've had you tucked safely in a drawer because there's no good place to put three temporary plastic urns while I wait for circumstances to fall into place so that those urns may be divested of their contents and you be laid to rest in the corners of the planet you would most want to rest in. Now that I'm moving, I have to take you out of that drawer and find you a new safe place during transit, and another one at the new destination (because the drawer won't work now that my furniture is being shared with a roommate).

It might seem wrong that I've had you in a dark drawer. I feel guilty for it sometimes. But it would be far worse if something were to happen to upset those temporary urns. Life is all hustle and bustle, and I have dogs, and visitors, and not much space, and it would be too easy for some accident to happen. I think I would feel far worse about that. So you are in a drawer with some items I think you would want to sit with while you wait, and you are waiting.

As I sort and pack the remains of my apartment, working quietly around what remains of my brother, my puppy whines when I move too far away. She's anxious to be as close to me as possible, to listen to my heartbeat, to be reassured of my presence.

I know the feeling, Daisy May. I know the feeling.