Frankly I don't deal well with loss. I left the kitchen on July 11th and walked half way to where my dog's bed used to sit in the living room and then stopped; remembering that he's not here anymore.

And I lost it, again, and realized that I always put everything sad that happens to me on the back burner and I let it all come and boil to the top until it all comes out like Niagra Falls.

Now, I'm sitting thinking about why we cry to grieve; and I think the Greeks hit it on the head. Every once-in-a-while, mankind needs to have a Catharsis; a great big Cry because then when you're done, life resumes and you can think clearer and remember things fonder and you are thankful for life in general.

Whenever I deal with stuff, I don't really truly deal until I have had a good cry.

You might say that there is strength in the tears, and by not letting myself cry, I am succumbing to weakness. So I guess, I am glad that on July 11th, it all came out, because I think that I will be able to deal a little bit better and all around feel better, and I won't have my dog's death hanging over my head like the 5 o'clock summer raincloud; there, every day at the same time.

By the way, no matter what anyone tells you, having someone tell you that your dog led a good life and is in a better place is NOT helpful... That is the last thing I ever want to hear; If he hadn't had a good life, he wouldn't have lived to be almost 12 and if he wasn't in a better place, he'd still be here, suffering, so in a way, I am glad that he's gone and glad that i've cryed my eyes out and glad that I handle things the way I do, because I think I would go insane if I didn't know the meaning of Catharsis.