Lina

I open my eyes, it is still dark. My heart aches. I have to get up, it is Sunday and they expect me at church. If I don’t show up they’ll notice I’m not there – after all, I’m the pastor.

I don’t want to descend the stairs from our bedroom to the first floor; I know how empty it will be. Lily and Lina have been sleeping downstairs for quite a while now, rather than in the bedroom with us. Last night, for the first time in months, Lily slept on her foam bed in the bedroom.

The first floor is quiet, still, not a sound. No tail thumping the floor in anticipation of seeing “Daddy”.

I can’t help it, I expect to see her; knowing she isn’t there I still expect to see her.

What is this mystery that binds a man or a woman to a pet, and a pet to a woman or a man? What is this mystery that gives us so much joy and companionship, and so much sorrow?

Emptiness; the hallway is empty, the living room is empty, the family room where she would normally be in the morning is empty. Empty but not empty for I still see her, I feel her, I think I hear her – there she is at her water bowl in the kitchen, there is that tail wagging as she looks up to me.