Time in a Bottle

I dreamed last night that I was on a train with Tommy. The door of the train was open, and Tommy was crouched beneath a seat near the back of the train, and my sole purpose for the entire length of the dream was to keep Tommy was getting out. I knew I would be broken-hearted if that happened. He never escaped, but I still woke up with a broken heart.

It's been nearly three years since his death, and I miss my little guy. From the first moment he gazed up at me with a look of "What took you so long?" he was my furry soulmate. He was a part of my heart and my soul in ways I just can't explain and today, for whatever reason, I am feeling the gaping, jagged hole that was created the moment the light disappeared from his eyes.

I try to comfort and to cheer myself with all of the good memories of him - his sweet face, the little tippy-toe dance of his back feet, how he would lay beside me draped over my arm at night, my husband-to-be saying "Goodbye, Piggles" before he left for work each morning. But it gets obscured with my pressing guilt of not spending more time with him, of not knowing he was so sick.

I'm sorry, Tommy. I'm sorry that you had to spend so much time alone. I'm sorry that you had to suffer before the end. And even though I'm grateful for the time we had, I'm sorry that we only had 13 years together.

I just wish we could have one more moment together so I could hug you and tell you I'm sorry. I guess I'll have to be content with raining my tears upon the wings of Raven, the celestial messenger, and asking him to fly my message to you, wherever you are.

I miss you, little Piglet.