It hit me last night already, the significance of today and I cried before falling asleep. It is exactly one year today since my grandfather passed away. Two years since Marc proposed, but that pales in significance, since we’re now married.

Last year, I had already mourned my grandfather’s passing when my mother phoned the day before to tell me that he was in a coma. Strangely enough, when my mother phoned the next morning to say that he had passed away, I couldn’t cry. Not then.

Marc really stepped up to the challenge of finding a kennel for TJ and organising a flight at such short notice so that I could attend his funeral. SAA did not want to allow Fayth into the cabin with me. They wanted her to travel with the cargo, even though she was a working dog (a service dog, trained by SA Guide-dogs Association). British Airways were more than accommodating and we flew to Port Elizabeth on Monday.

I don’t remember much else of that day. My mother met us at the airport in PE and we went home. I think the funeral happened on Wednesday. I really cried that day, seeing my grandmother hugging the coffin in the church.

It’s a year later and I don’t think she is over his passing. I’m going to phone her tonight and I don’t think she is going to want to speak to anyone.

The other thought on my mind last night was Fayth’s passing. I thought it might be time for me to get a nice-looking wooden box and pack her things away. I have her collar and chain on my bedside table. Her (working) jacket  and leash are in my bookcase in my office. I saw her brush, full of her hair, in my drawer when I got a sewing kit out yesterday morning. The thought of packing it all away just tore me up.

You tend to take your loved ones for granted and always think they’re going to be around forever. You don’t realise how much you miss them until they’re no longer around. I miss my grandfather, and Fayth, and my dogs that I had before them. It comforts me to think that they’re together again, somewhere and waiting for us to join them.