One year ago, I was home from work, about to eat dinner, and Piccolo was begging for some. Then, in an instant, she fell to the ground, let out a scream, arched her body, then went limp. Just at that moment, the Man called to say he was arriving home. I rushed out of the apartment with Piccolo in my arms, and we raced to the emergency room. They tried to revive her, but she was already gone. The grief was visceral. We came home without her, and as I walked up to the apartment, every muscle in my body, every organ, felt like it was tied in knots. I almost didn't make it to the bathroom to throw up.
Writing this, remembering that feeling, I sense my body tightening.
I loved Piccolo so much, I could get weepy just thinking about it. My life went on, there have been highs and lows as with any year passing, and I'm the only one that remembers the night and moment when she was gone, today.
A sad anniversary.
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