I used to read 50+ books each year. In a bound suede journal which my grandmother gave me, I proudly kept track of the titles I had finished, a running tally of total books read in a year, and a list of books to be devoured still. My New Year’s health resolution was how many books I would strive to read that calendar year.
First confession: I don’t know where this post will take me. And, be warned that it may be a hard read, but I need to get this out, before the details blur anymore in my memory and mommy brain.
I have wanted to write about this, but haven’t been sure how or when. I first started drafting something on December 5, 2017, when I first admitted to myself deep down that my poor sweet dog, Buck, was approaching his end. That week was emotionally exhausting, knowing and dreading, but also wanting to remember and cherish his last few days with us.