I will never forget November 6, 2008. Just like I will never forget July 16, 2008, or September 21, 2009. It is forever a part of my memory, and the scars forever part of my body.
I can remember what I was wearing that day. Actually, it was the same jeans I have on today, and a shirt I bought from Wal-Mart the day before for three bucks. And I don't think I've had it on since.
I can remember what I had for lunch that day. It took me a long time to be able to eat it again.
But I can also remember the event. And it replays in my mind in slow motion. Almost every day. Almost every time I close my eyes. And, just in case I were to forget, there is a blood stain on my front door.
November 8, 2008 started out like any other day. Work, then lunch break. That's where things took a drastic turn. Sitting down to eat lunch, a Stouffer's Five Cheese Lasagna, my dog was going crazy to get outside. I knew Paul had just let him out, but I was frustrated. He was barking. And annoying me.
So I let him out. And the vision keeps replaying.
I let him out, and he ran right into the road. I can remember seeing the truck and thinking, "Wow, they are going really fast." But I let him out. As I sit here at my desk, over a year later, I am fighting back the tears as I relive that moment. I let him out.
I know Boone was just a dog. But he was my dog, and I miss him every day. I miss the ridiculous amount of dog hair that would pile on my floor. I miss his constant barking when he felt he wasn't getting enough attention. I miss the way he let Rascal, a fourth of his size, bully him.
And now, even a year later, I think about it each and every day. The event is forever emblazoned in my mind. I let him out.
One day, I will have to explain to Ansley why my ring finger looks so strange, and why it tingles all the time and doesn't seem to move as easily as the rest of my fingers. But, I hope that explanation doesn't come because she experiences a loss in the same way. Go ahead, mock me. But it was traumatic for me. And I promise you. The same vision replaying over and over does not make it any easier.
And now, as everyone is thinking I get a little too attached to "just a dog," I leave you with a picture of that dog. Yes, he was just a dog, but he was my dog. And I let him out.