Losing and Finding

To my Flounder,

Today was not an easy day. I picked up your ashes, placed the cedar box on the seat beside me, and cried all the way home. For now, the box sits on the kitchen counter. We will bury you, at Christmas, when we are all together again.

On top of the box rests a framed photo of you, right next to your clay paw prints. They had to make two prints of the right paw, because you've been missing your left leg ever since my daughter first found you. Losing one of your lives in a car accident when you were two, you then lived through the rest of your lives with us, thankfully unscathed.

Twelve years after we found you, we lost you.

There is a quote in one of my books that seems to fit today: "In every losing there is a finding. There always is. Sometimes you have to wait for it. But it will come. In the end you will discover that there is a perfect balance between what one loses and what one finds."

~ Mary Reynolds, The Rule of Thirds.

I cling to that thought, even though I'm not sure what the 'finding' will actually entail, or when it will occur. My greatest hope is that it will happen when our souls finally reconnect. Maybe I will find a little kitten who has your eyes. Or your markings. Or is missing one front leg.

We were supposed to grow older together. Damn cancer. You should be here, right now, sitting on my lap. And later on tonight, you should be curled up in our bed.

But you're not here. And I miss you, my beautiful boy. Please find me again. In the meantime and until we meet again, I will hold your sweet little soul in my heart.

With all my love,

Your human mom