Goodbye to Julie

Julie reminders abound.   In the downstairs bathroom trash can, I can still see an empty Squeeze-Up treat packet. It’s the last thing she ever ate.   I opened the adjacent closet, and see two cases of her prescription cat food , Royal Canin Urinary SO. I still haven’t decided what to do with all that food. Feed it to the dog? Lord knows she ate plenty of Julie’s food over the years, but she’s on her own bougie diet these days. Return it to the store? Maybe, but I probably don’t have the receipt. Toss it? That seems like quite a waste, especially considering how much this stuff cost, and what a nuisance it so often was to acquire.   And the reminders are in the absence of Julie-related things, as well. The white space on the ledge where I fed her. The vacancy in the sun room, where she once had her downstairs litter box. The voids in the various spots in the house where I usually found her, or where I’d try to find her when I couldn’t.   And, of course, the subtler di...

September 7. It’s a Tuesday. I’m home, in the middle of a long weekend. Yesterday was Labor Day, today and tomorrow are Rosh Hoshanah. So I’m home, and it’s a slow, sad five days in a house without my Julie.   She died two weeks ago. Fourteen years with her, fourteen days without her. Somehow the latter feels longer than the former.   I keep thinking that I hear her. The house emanates sounds it didn’t used to make. I keep thinking there’s a rustling sound from the next room over, or that I hear her jumping up on the table in the other room. Lord knows why, but I always get up to look to see what I’m hearing, and I’m always a little surprised when she’s not there.   And she keeps popping up in my dreams. The old Julie, that’s the one I dream about. Full of life, never far away from me.   It’s not just me, for what that’s worth. Angela said the same thing the other day — that she keeps thinking she hears Julie. Maybe it’s her spirit, still in the house, saying hello. ...

In July, an old friend visited, and we played Risk -- an odd tradition that goes back 20 years. Of course, Julie sat on my lap for most of the game. 

Monday, September 6. It’s Labor Day.   Everyone looks forward to days like Labor Day. For most Americans, you’re either on vacation, celebrating the end of summer, or enjoying a day of relaxation at home.   We aren’t going anywhere for this weekend. For months, I’ve been thinking that this Labor Day would be a Daddy-Julie Day. For the last few weeks, just hoping.   Whenever I would be home all day and it’s unexpected, Julie inevitably would spend the whole day with me. I got the strange sense that she somehow could tell the difference between a holiday like Labor Day and a regular Saturday. Those bonus me-at-home days were always taken advantage of.   Today was the first bonus day off without Julie. What’s worse is, I’ll be home both tomorrow and Wednesday, too, for Rosh Hoshanah.   Julie and I would’ve been in heaven.  

August 24, 2021. It’s 10:30 a.m.  I’m back home — a home without Julie, for the first time in 14 years.   It’s a big house, and it feels even bigger, now.   There’s no Julie here.   We don’t have kids. This is a house meant for kids. For a family.   It’s less of a family now that it was before.   The emptiness has arrived.   What am I going to do without her?   I wash the dishes.  

Today, September 4, I went to the vet again, this time to bring Julie home.   Pulling into the vet parking lot brought me back. The last time I arrived here , Julie was in my lap. We spent some time together in the parking lot until I said goodbye, and thanked her.   The interaction didn’t last long.   I knock on the door. An administrative assistant opens it.   “I’m here for Julie’s remains.” “Oh, yes, okay,” she says. When she returns, she gives me the box and says, “I’m sorry.”   I put her in the front seat, with my hand on her — much like I would be if she were alive and here, and in her carrier. It’s a short drive home from the vet, but I can’t help but break down a little bit.   I still haven’t decided where she belongs yet, long-term. Of course, I intend to make her a proper shrine in due time. Nothing over-the-top, but a space in the house that will always be hers, with her ashes and her photos. A place where I can sit and think of her.   I’m c...