It’s almost six months following his death and every day I look at his pictures or paintings and think:

I killed him I burned him I made his fur and bones into ash if I add water can I create clay and bring him back to life or maybe the dust he’ll reappear like a genie or in the mummy movie or something. Maybe there’s a spell or if I wish hard enough or maybe there’s something out there to bring him back from the dead. Some days I even find myself touching the box of his remains and snatching my hand away to break my fixation w these repetitive thoughts. I just want him back. I just want to bring him back. I know I can’t but maybe. Maybe if I try something. Maybe I could. Is there something I could try. There has to be. I took so much away fromhim, everything he loves like cuddles and crunchies and couch. I took those things away. I took him away. I can’t live without him and this pin isn’t bearable there has to be something to make it stop. Why did I kill him. I miss him so much. I can’t even say his name.There isn’t a minute in the day I’m not thinking about him, I’m constantly on the verge of tears.  Everyday is a master class in acting; where’s my golden globe?

I know grief isn’t linear and there’s no “normal.” I’ve read many books, I have his alter, and other tributes.  Right now nothing seems to ease the ache though. It hurts a lot though and hoping maybe the counselor can help a little.