A Writer's Notebook, Day Four-Hundred-And-Fourteen

I am thinking about Ulysses a great deal tonight.  First, it was Yom Kippur, and that involves a lot of reflection upon those who have passed, and Ulysses was the most recent to join that group.  It still is so fresh, I have yet to even accept it entirely.  Part of my mind thinks something will change, though that is not a possibility, is outside the bounds of the real world.  Beyond my reflections during today's services, tomorrow is also the day when Melissa and I plan to go to the vet to get Ulysses ashes so we can bring him home.  Thus, Ulysses is much in my mind tonight.  I'm not sure I have much to say about him at the moment, other than to acknowledge that I feel deeply wounded by the fact that he died so young.  I am certain I have expressed this before, but even though Ulysses had chronic medical issues, they were under control, and what killed him seemed so unrelated.  It is not easy to let such things rest, and I know that Melissa feels similarly robbed of his presence.  I wish I could find a way to make this better, but I know such pain does not truly heal, it is merely that one learns how to live with it, to accept the reality it represents.  I have yet to get close to that, and I am still at that point where I am not entirely ready to move forward.

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