Under normal circumstances, I hate cleaning, but I know that at the end of so much labour, there are benefits worth the inconvenience: a clean house, a sense of accomplishment, etc. This morning, I was so loath to clean because it felt like I was removing all traces of Max; all I could feel was a sense of betrayal.
We stored his cat carrier, food and water dishes, and most of the toys downstairs in the storage locker. But not all the toys went into storage. I left his favourite toy to be cremated with him. Purrball never bothered with those honeysuckle toys, so that little socky was the one thing that was wholly and truly his. The other thing I couldn't bring myself to store was my old cabbage patch doll. Years ago, he took a peculiar shine to it; he would lick it's face and snuggle up to it. I was going to get rid of it several years back, until I realized how strong his attachment was. Over the years, I've made sure he had a quiet place to spend time with his dolly.
Today, I picked it up to vacuum the bedroom, with the intention of putting the doll downstairs, but instead I broke down into tears, not ready yet. As irrational as it sounds, this is the one thing left of him, as all other physical traces of Max get vacuumed up, washed out, or stored.
Hanging on to a doll for dear life...
...Wish you were here.
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