It's hard to let go, sometimes. Despite all the platitudes being mouthed - "they're in a better place now", "at least they aren't suffering any longer", you still feel miserable.
A favorite pair of shoes has gone to the walk-in closet in the sky.
I hate accepting they are done. Passed on! No more! Ceased to be! Expired and gone to meet their maker. A stiff! Bereft of life, they rest in peace. Pushing up the daisies! They're off the twig! They've kicked the bucket, they've shuffled off this mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!! THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!
Oops. Sorry about that. Sometimes Monty Python just takes over and you have to let them.
Where was I? Oh yes. Shoes. Giving them up. I have a pair of Ferragamo slingbacks that my cat Sebastian sank his teeth into. They are cream, and the toothmarks show. That damn cat snuck into the closet and had a field day. I took them to the cobbler, and there is no hope. Yet I can't accept they're done. They are the nicest pair of shoes I ever had.
I've tried to get over the sadness. I give Sebastian the stink eye if I see him anywhere near any pair of footwear belonging to any member of the household. I give him the stink eye just because I can. It doesn't help.
I wonder if I should seek grief counseling? Maybe I need closure. Perhaps a group therapy session would be better? Do I need to talk about my anger? Communication is important, so I'm told.
I know what I have to do. I have to let these shoes go so I can accept new ones into my heart.
Where's my charge card?
Friday, May 05, 2006