Alec and I got Lola a few months after we bought our house. Our first house, probably the only house we'll every buy. We weren't expecting to get a little puppy a few months later. Lola was the only dog I have ever had. She is intrinsically linked with this house. When it came, she came. Most of the rooms in the house revolve in some way around Lola. We wanted it that way. Even the bushes in the backyard were designed so she could trot by and eat a blueberry. She made us a family, made our house a home. Part of me wants to sell the house now. If feels empty and achy without her. But if we sold it, it would be like I was leaving such a perfect time behind, something that is just remnants now, a husk, something so special that is sealed in amber in this house, a time when the three of us were a special unit in our little house. My life hasn't been perfect for the last eleven and a half years. But somehow having the three of us together, our life in this house together, always pulled me through everything. I knew I had a wonderful thing, almost like a secret that nothing could take away. Not a shitty job, not an ugly school, not a mean boss. My heart was linked to the three of us here, our special place. And now it's gone.
I have been ill since I returned to work on Friday the 11th, the last day of the first week of school. I lost my voice. It is still gone, just a scratchy hiss. Hardly anyone knows what happened, most people think I had COVID or something. Someone even asked, whatever happened better not have been your dog. I stared back, then left the room to avoid crying. Another asked, how about that dog? Again, I just shook my head and ran away.
Work has always tried to dominate my life. I can feel them trying again. It's like they know what I've lost, so now they can have me. I won't let it happen. It's bad enough I let it happen last spring when I should have been with my baby. Or when I was working at the Housing Authority. I won't do it.
But what does it matter now anyway?
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