My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.
This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and I can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.
When Indie died, I kept a list on my phone of every little thing I could remember about him. Everything in my house, yard, car, and every piece of furniture, blanket, and rug conjured a memory. Tiny details about Indie. His fur, his little bunny legs, pokie paws, and his sausage-shaped tail. He leaned against me when I was sick, going through a bad phase, hurting, sad, or depressed. I would hug him tightly, soaking in his unconditional love.
It’s Day 23 and I’m running out of time to write all the stories.
I worried that writing all these memories wouldn’t be good for my mental health. Writing these stories means remembering fifteen years of highs and lows in my life. Now that I’m in it, I know that this month will be important. I also know that I need to stop after Day 31.
I knew I was running out of time in Indie’s final days, too. He leaned on me, radiating love, during all the terrible things that happened to me. I used to scoff at the idea of a “therapy pet.” For me, meds and a psychiatrist are necessary - but a dog? I understand it now—and wonder if a therapy pet is such a good idea. Fifteen years wasn’t enough time with him and what if I fall apart without him?
For the final two days, I spent every single minute holding him, or laying down next to his dog bed and just watching him breathe, and just sobbing. My kids sobbed. We all sobbed together. Is it terrible to say I hoped he would die peacefully in his sleep? Did we have to choose the day and time when would die?
I was so young when he first arrived, and now I feel old. Fifteen years is too short of a time for a dog’s life, but that’s a lot of aging for a grown woman. There’s a big difference between 30 and 45. Can I really start over now? My dog is gone; years have flown by; I’m still here; there’s still a lot left to do.
It’s only Day 23. Still quite a few days, and quite a few stories to go.