I'm sitting in the nook at my parent's house. I feel like I've begun a few blog posts that way. It's a good place, because what nook isn't? ...But it also is the easiest place to charge my computer. ;)
My pecan pie is in the oven. I finished it after we were done with dinner. Supper. ? THANKSGIVING FEAST. Because I didn't start cooking/baking until noonish, and because it's just me, Mom, and Dad today, there were no hard and fast deadlines, and I was in no mood to rush. And let's be honest: NO ONE feels like eating Thanksgiving dessert RIGHT after the rest of the food.
I must note that this is the best pecan pie recipe ever; it is also important that I use dark corn syrup and real dark brown sugar. I also happened to make real sweetened whipped cream as well, because another recipe called for Cool Whip and gee, there wasn't any, so sad. Not.
I haven't been home since I put Biff down. I've been saying, at times, "since Biff died" but honestly, it doesn't entirely work for me, since I'm the one that did it. I could say he "passed away". I honestly don't like the term "pass", especially when not used as a lone verb. Saying he died sucks and is harsh. Because death sucks and it's harsh. I could say he's gone. But that's the worst one of all. Because that's the one that's the most true.
Dying is abstract. Loss is not. I was sort of worried about coming home (duh, self; you posted about it), but it hasn't been a punch in the face. Mostly because I won't let myself descend into tears. There's nothing wrong with tears. But they can be perpetual. And I don't want to do that to the people around me. And it might not even help.
It is good to be home. It's home. It will never not be home. It's very good to be with my parents. It always is. I love to cook. It's therapeutic. I listened to "Bird by Bird" by Anne Lamott on my phone. One of my nieces, Lucy, mercifully graced us with her dear presence for a short hour. I would've kept her the whole day. We did mini Springbok puzzles. I dug a card table out of Mom's garage furniture stash, so we can do the 1000-piece vintage candy wrapper puzzle B found for me at a thrift store (and I just discovered you can buy it at The Vermont Country Store; I feel validated in my tastes and interests :). I didn't change out of my flannel pj's until right before we ate. I did not cook everything I normally cook, cuz I didn't feel like being strung out. AND I messed up my cream cheese crust for cherry pie so frick it, I'm making that and stuffing tomorrow. The rest was a glowing success.
(Mom, I heard what you and Dad just said in the TV room, and I'm all about ministering to you guys, but believe me, it also ministers to me :)
And I appreciate the continuity. Because I've thought a lot, this last month, about how much I have been changed by loss, but death is a loss that I haven't had to deal with before Biff. And I know people who don't relate to this just don't relate to my talking about my dog on such a level, but I don't owe anyone a justification for my feelings. I assume that the loss of a person is much worse. Thankfully, comparisons mean nothing to me in situations of the heart. My pain is mine, my experiences are mine. I'm thankful, yes thankful, that I'm not getting punched in the face with trauma and grief right now, like when I was here last time. But life feels lesser without Biff here. Pets should live as long as us. Life is lesser without Biff. My love for him and my precious memories of him are always with me, and they do comfort me. But a layer of life, a dear one, has been pulled out and away. He was part of our family. I did not take him for granted. I miss him. My mom misses him. I want to give him turkey bits. I want to hear his sounds. I want to find his hair everywhere.
That's all. I was thankful before today, I'm thankful today, I'll be thankful tomorrow. There are a lot of hard things about existing in this weird human form, and I've really come to understand how there will always be things in the core of me that I miss and long for, but I am often, nearly constantly, aware of how much I have, and how much life I presumably have left, and what I can do, and what that might bring. Thanksgiving has long been a very lovely holiday for me, to me, because I honestly strive for community and festivity (as well as being solitarily cooking within the busyness - though not quite so solitary, as my dug would always be close by), and marks the beginning of a season I never, ever tire of, no matter where I'm at as a person. I miss what I miss; this belongs to me; I am grateful. I fiercely own it. It is mine. I am mine. But of course, by grace of humans and pugs and bigger things, and small things.