It starts with a stupid lump in my throat-
“Why does my face feel so hot?” Tears.
Tears brim and flow from helpless eyelids,
trickle down my cheeks and wet my lips.
I hastily wipe them away. Is today the day?

For a moment I held it in, shook my head,
exhaled and thought “Be ashamed!
A tear is a child’s ploy, a tear is the
weak’s device, to fail to cope is to cry.”
My grief didn’t stop for my pride.

I buried you three days ago, Eddie.
I fronted up and reacted the mature way,
only showing anger, only being snappy,
only hating people with sympathy,
only removing all your traces before I cry.

Why am I crying now? I had enough warning
when you turned old and didn’t fight a bath,
when you couldn’t lift your legs anymore,
The day when you didn’t move for a walk,
and went right where you sat, best friend.
I watched the syringe, your misery complete,
as you passed on to an endless sleep.

Did I honor our love? I grieved. Did I weep then?
No.  I sulked, though- and hit my hand on things.
I never did that when you were around. I used to
talk to you when you put paws on my chest, no?
It’s hit me today, and you aren’t here to see it.
I loved you Eddie, I love you still- and I will cry.

A tear is a helpless plea, it’s a shout I cannot
voice- anguish which I cannot bear to retell.
It hardly comforts. But it helps me breathe.
Do these tears ease the pain of losing you?
No, not today.  “Breathe, breathe, repeat, and
maybe a good cry. We’ll see how tomorrow goes.”