EllaAs the shovel picked up the load of dirt and dropping it into the hole, I felt my soul was being buried as well. There she was, in the casket. I'd poured 15 years of my life into her, and now she was gone. Just like that.
It would have been easier if she was a person. The prospect of seeing her in heaven would have been a dream come true.
But she wasn't a person.
Ella was – had been – my pet.
My soul mate.
But Ella wasn't any old dog. She was spunky, and always knew when I was in a bad mood. When I was ready to cry, her slobbery mouth was there on my lap, those big brown eyes staring up at me, and I knew she understood.
When I'd had a bad day at work, she was there for me at the door, tail wagging and old, smelly sock ready for tug-of-war.
When I didn't know what to feel, she'd been there for me with exactly what I needed to heal my heart.
And now she wasn't here to heal it again.
She was causing the hurt.
Walking out of that cemetery, leaving her to be embraced by the ground,