The next few nights Isaac didn't call. To this day I wish I had told him how I felt about him at the diner.
Those evenings without talking to him were some of the loneliest I'd had since Paul died. I sat in my dark living room and stared at a blank wall where pictures of my happy life used to be.
Talking to Isaac every night distracted me from how lonely I had become, and I didn't even have that anymore.
I wiped the tears away. I had picked up my phone so many times to call Isaac and tell him how sorry I was for my lack of response.
Something in me still couldn't say the words, and I couldn’t bring myself to call him.
I then noticed Frank slink into the living room. I could tell he was not himself.
"What is it, boy?" I patted the couch for him to jump up and sit by me. He tried but couldn't make it. "Oh, come here, fuzzy." I reached to pick him up, and he urinated all over the carpet.
I flipped on the lamp. His eyes were glazed over and he could barely stand on his legs. I knew right then he was dying.
"No! I can't lose you," I said between sobs. I scooped him into my arms. The closest vet was about 20 minutes away.
My mind flashed back to every memory I'd had with that dog from the time Paul and I had brought him home until now. He was the last piece of a puzzle long since destroyed.
He was all I had left from my joyful past life, and he was slipping away from me.
My grief tank had overflowed for so long now, and the thought of losing Frank was only salt in an ancient open wound.