I've been nursing this Crow drawing for a few weeks now.  I started it when Fred's health began to decline...when Bertha (my brain injury) and I were spinning out of control and needed lines-lines-lines to anchor us  I'd gather my supplies and Freddy, head down to our back deck and sit out there with him for hours.  He would be so happy and in his element.  Mouth smiling, tongue lolling out, he would sniff the air, watch the crows fly by,  occasionally dash after some misguided squirrel that thought it could cross his sight line...he spent days there so happy...wagging and greeting everyone that walked through the green space behind our home.  

I've been holding onto it, stalling the process of finishing it.  Only allowing myself a few minutes with it every day since he passed. I can almost lull myself into believing I'm still sitting with Fred when I'm working on it.  But that il...

It has been a week since Fred left us. A week filled with some very low lows. But that is not to say they weren’t moments of what I call high lows. Those moments are when your grief and sorrow are shared with others, seen and acknowledged. Whether it is a text message, a phone call to check in, a visit with friends or flowers from a neighbour, those moments make it easier to keep wading through the grief.

I have to say my favorite high-low moment of the last week isn’t any of the ones listed above. And it wasn’t one that happened with an adult. It happened with a young boy in our neighbourhood…. a good friend to Fred. During one of the walks with Carmela, Gordon run into this young boy and his Dad. Let’s call this young boy Sam for the purpose of this story.

Sam saw Gordon and Carmela and immediately came over to say hello…and this is the conversation that followed.

Sam: Hello! Where’s Fred?
Gordon: (trying not to lose it) F...

I wanted to thank everyone that reached out to us over the last few days. We really appreciste you. I won't lie....it has been excruciating to live through a whole series of firsts without Fred. There is this massive void in our lives. One that feels like it gets bigger with every marker of his absence.

First morning without him, first walk without him, first breakfast without him, first car ride without him, first time you call out to him to come....and realize he isn't coming, first time you reach towards where you think he is only to realize you will never hold/kiss him again...first time you reflexively reach under the table to share a treat, only to remember he isn't there....first time you realize his toys haven't moved in days...first time you catch yourself talking about him in the present tense...the first time you yell out NAP CLUB, and you don't hear him making a mad dash to the bedroom for a cuddle and nap.....f...