Winnie Day

It was a year ago today that Winnie left us and I can honestly say not a single day has gone by that she hasn't been in my thoughts. I have dutifully refilled her glass of water on the coffee table and each time I feed Pip and Olive I call out, "Come on, Bean. Come on, Mouse." For a very long time I kept her feathered urn on the kitchen counter where she liked to perch and watch me cook but recently moved it to my bedside bookshelf where she can sit next to me while I sleep, which she also liked to do. I'm as loyal and dedicated to her now as I was every day of her life. And I miss her more than I thought possible.

 

I would be lying if I said I hadn't spent portions of the day crying. I look at her spot on the chair and tear up. I feel an emptiness on my hip where she used to perch. But I've decided I'm not going to be sad. Instead I'm going to make a bowl of popcorn and eat it. She loved popcorn more than just about anything else, so much so that on that last afternoon together, when she'd stopped eating, I was desperate and made her some, which she eagerly devoured one last time. So I'll make my popcorn and think of the day Ken and I brought her and Pip home and all the good days in between, and celebrate her life as it deserves to be celebrated.

I'll remember the last time I took her outside, the last time I held her little paws in my hand, and that beautiful face of hers, with the diamond on her nose. She was my most precious girl, my Bean, my Mouse. And I was her Papa. And someday I'll get to see her again. I know it. I can't believe anything else, but that just wouldn't make sense.

“You know that place between sleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.” 

 (J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan)