She Was Here, Wasn’t She?

The UPAA annual symposium ended June 26, which I am only just realizing as I type this, was exactly one month after Harlow died. I pulled out of the hotel where we were staying and onto the highway to head to the airport and burst into tears. Yes, there was certainly stress released after the completion of such a big event, but what I was crying for Harlow.

I didn’t have much space to grieve Harlow with the symposium on the horizon after her death. My compartmentalizing was not intentional or created consciously. I arrived home from the symposium on a Friday and had claimed vacation days for that Monday and Tuesday. I cried a lot for her during that time.

I finally felt better, as though my grief had finally arrived to honor her.

Before leaving for the symposium, I sent a digital nose print provided by the aquamation company to a ring maker. I returned to find the ring had been delivered as well as a lovely bouquet of flowers from the Loews containing a really neat metal stake for Harlow. A few days later, a prism showed up from Shannon.

On more than one occasion in the last few weeks I have entered my kitchen in the afternoon to find the dog door open, light flowing in. I know I opened it but do not recall doing so.

Her giant dog beds still sit in my space. I put many things out on the curb in a cleaning frenzy in those days after the symposium. I lifted two of her beds to bring them to the curb hoping someone would claim them. I’ve noticed is that nothing smells like her. Not her stuffed animals, not her beds, not the cover that went over her end of the couch. But this time when I went to put her beds on the curb I found that the larger one had her smell on it. I burst into tears of course, and decided not to put that one out just yet.

That smaller gray one was never claimed from the curb, but Dad, just in time, asked if I still had some because Winnie was due for a “new” bed. I was very happy to give Winnie a hand-me-down. Especially since the bed she got was still in good shape!

Harlow’s large bed still sits there, as do her stuffed animals. I am not ready to part with the stuffed animals especially, but soon it will seem quite silly to have them still sitting there on the floor where she left them.

The mantle is still a tribute to Harlow with all the thoughtful cards and gifts, but those too, need to be put away soon before they become part of the decor of my home, which is a bit morbid perhaps.

I was watching a rather grim true crime documentary recently in which a mother talked about her late daughter with disbelief that she was gone and questioning if she was ever present to begin with, “She was here, right? She did exist?”

I listen to a podcast about grief and not once has anyone ever expressed this feeling. At least, not that I recall. I feel this way about Harlow and it helped me to know I am not the only person who has ever felt this way about someone’s death.

Harlow was a huge part of my life for over twelve years, and somehow also, it feels like she wasn’t real. I find myself looking at photos and questioning whether she ever existed, while also knowing full well that she most definitely did. How strange, this feeling. As though she is gone like smoke.