Really Missing Her

/ Richard R. Barron
This ceramic moon ornament hangs on a pillar on the front porch this evening. Like so much of this home, it is something Abby and I bought together, in Santa Fe about 10 years ago. It, and all the things like it around me, reminds me of her.
This ceramic moon ornament hangs on a pillar on the front porch this evening. Like so much of this home, it is something Abby and I bought together, in Santa Fe about 10 years ago. It, and all the things like it around me, reminds me of her.

Everyone around town asks about Abby every day. I give them part of the story: she’s about the same. Closer to the truth is she isn’t thriving. She is quiet and comfortable, but has no energy, and is able to do little more than watch television.

She was is COVID isolation for two weeks at Ballard Nursing Center, but tested negative yesterday, and moved back into a regular room, so I no longer have to dress like the abdominal snowman in order to see her.

I bring her egg nog. I tell her about my day. She falls asleep.

There is no shortage of “I love you” from either of us, but sometimes it’s all we have left.

I miss her.

Now that Hawken the Irish wolfhound is an indoor dog, he follows me in and out of the house. He and his sister, Summer the Chihuahua, seem to know that Abby is missing. Abby asks about the dogs every day.
Now that Hawken the Irish wolfhound is an indoor dog, he follows me in and out of the house. He and his sister, Summer the Chihuahua, seem to know that Abby is missing. Abby asks about the dogs every day.