Jedi (01/13/21 - 12/28/21)

I’ve been looking out the window a lot this afternoon. The wind is different today. Everything feels different. I can see the branches from the trees swinging. I can hear the floor creaking as I slowly walk back and forth through the house.

It’s too quiet in here.

I keep looking out the window. I can see the wind pushing the gate to the backyard completely open. That’s the gate that usually keeps my family safe.

We lost Jedi a few hours ago.

He died around noon. His first birthday was just a few weeks away. January 13th.

We buried him in the backyard. We plan to have a cross with his name on it, with a flower bed around where he’s laying. That’s where I’ll go to tell him good morning, as I drink my coffee.

I’ll remember how he’d follow me around the house and lay near wherever I decided to sit. Every time. Now, I’ll go to him. I’ll rest where he’s resting.

Back in January, I decided to create an Instagram for him. I’m thankful that I did, because now I have a scrapbook of his life:

If you start from the very beginning, you can watch him as he grows up each month. He started off so small (I remember Olivia holding him as we drove home). But even though he kept getting bigger, his personality stayed youthful. He never stopped being a baby.

Jedi taught me how to love unconditionally. He taught me that it’s possible to be excited about every person you meet.

There’s now a hole in our hearts. There’s now a hole in our home. This place won’t be the same without him.


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