My composure of the past few weeks has been a puzzle to me. I attributed my comfortable acceptance of Murdoch's death to knowing how hard it had become to be him. I'd shed many tears over the past three years whenever I'd thought about the inevitable. When the day came I took comfort knowing we did right by him. It was one of the hardest things to do, but undoubtedly we did right by him.
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Tonight I watched this picture pass through our screen saver and fell apart. When I look at this I see his tolerance for allowing Mae to place a tiara on his head. I see his cloudy eyes and the skin tag that had developed over his left eyelid. He is licking peanut butter off a spoon with one of his medications tucked inside. I see his white snout and his old man nose. I remember every inch of his body. I miss touching him, and I miss feeling his eyes follow me wherever I'd go.
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I am glad he is no longer inhibited by an aging body. I take comfort imagining Murdoch and Kilo racing down the back hill together trying to be first to jump into the stream. I know I will never get over this loss, but hopefully someday will learn to live with it.
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