Getting up off the bathroom floor

I decided this summer that I was going to start watching "Grey's Anatomy" this fall. I read episode summaries from the very beginning, and caught a couple of repeats in the last weeks before the new season started.

The first episode I actually saw was the one where Meredith and Derek have to end their dog's suffering. I had known for quite some time that it was a decision I would probably be facing before the year was out, and, with Pepsi on the bed beside me, frantically licking away my tears, I completely and totally lost it.

Today is Day Five of "Life Without My Dog". It has been incredibly difficult, and I know deep in my heart that I won't really be able to move on until I can bring her ashes home.

But this morning, I thought of "Grey's Anatomy" again. I realized that for the first time in days, I wasn't conscious of the stabbing pain of grief with every breath. This morning, like Izzy finally did, I managed to pick myself up off the floor.

I still miss Pepsi more than I can even articulate. But chances are that, somehow, I will get through this.

I just wish she were ready for me to bring her home.