It’s hard to believe that today, July 29, marks one year since I had to put Annie down. And it’s every bit as hard to think about her without getting weepy or upset. She turned into such a sweet little thing.
I won’t go into details of her last days; it’s just too sad. Recounting those details don’t do much to memorialize her either. It’s better to remember her while she lived rather than her last, difficult, pain-filled hours.
I miss my girl. I miss my Annie. I come home now and have to remind myself not to call to her. I look over where her bed used to be and sigh. When I put Cecil down years ago (12 years ago this August 10), I just felt empty inside. But for some reason I’m sadder with Annie’s death than I was with Cecil. I miss her every day.
It’s still hard to not think of her without getting teary and sad. But it’s slowly getting better. I remember her with more rose colored glasses and her little quirks that irritated me when she was alive now are endearing memories. Funny how that works.
I miss you my sweet, dear little girl. I always will.