Remember

Let me first apologize in advance for going back on what I said last time; this won't be a funny post either, but I promise the next one will be appropriately immature. Before that, I just wanted to add a short addendum to my last entry. First, many many thank yous to everyone who offered their condolences to Ann and myself on Facebook. It was an extremely tough experience- I said on Facebook that we lost a good friend, but that undervalues Gizmo's status... for the last six years she was a member of our family, before Ann and I even knew we were going to end up a family. Despite myriad other things contributing to make this a bad week, chief among them painful ear infections for Molly and Ann, we are doing somewhat better now, thank you. I think what's surprised me most about the aftermath is how many little things remind me of Gizmo, even when I'm not consciously thinking of her. It's hard to walk into my den or in that general vicinity of the house, because while I rarely thought of it before, my ears subconsciously tune in, expecting to hear the clanging of metal as Giz scampers to the front of her cage to see if I'm coming to feed her. Now, the silence speaks volumes. The other day I noticed that I hadn't opened the front window shades on my way out in the morning, then realized with a pang that I didn't need to... there's no one to let natural light in for during the day. At class on Tuesday, I saw a stack of the student newspaper and resisted grabbing a handful, because there's no litter tray to line anymore. And that first night, Monday night, was the first time in the years we've lived in this house when I've been home but haven't fed her a handful of hay as my final action before going to bed. So many unexpected reminders. But in a way, I'm glad. Not for the pain... that I could live without. But for the memories. I mentioned last time that I wouldn't think of trading away all the joy Gizmo brought us if it meant we'd be spared the sorrow of the last few days. That remains the case, and the last thing I want to do is forget our bunny. True, the memories are still raw and difficult, and they may stay that way for a while. But I know that in the long term, what we'll remember will be the good times with her, and that's worth a little momentary sadness any day.