I’m not a grandparent yet, but I do have a granddog. Her name is Ginger and she is my eldest son’s best friend. She loves that boy of mine…it’s a Where the Red Fern Grows kind of love. When he is gone, she misses him so much that she drags anything with his smell on it…hat, shirts, socks, shoes, pants …to where she perches on the couch. She lays there with all his things around her…soaking in his smell. It seems to make her less lonely for him.
In the first months after Steve died, I was much like Ginger. I would go into his closet and nuzzle in his coats and jackets. They still had his wonderful smell. I would hug them and cry into them. And like Ginger, it made me a little less lonely for Steve.
But 14 months have passed and Steve’s smell is gone
And I don’t have that to make me
A little less lonely.
It is my great fear that as time goes on
I won’t even remember his smell.
And knowing that might happen
Makes me ache for him.
I ache for him.