Hi everyone. Thank you all for all the kind and supportive comments on my last post. I can't respond to them individually at this point but please know that I've read and appreciated every single one of them.
I fear this is turning into the My Dying Dog blog, which can't be very much fun to read. I'm sorry. Life feels like it's in this weird transitional period, a kind of shitty and depressing limbo between our old life with Ginger and what comes after. In a little over a week I'll return to work full time after 5 months of being at home. Establishing new routines and getting back on a schedule will have to help.
That said, I'm glad I have another week at home with George. He's going to be alone during the day for the first time since we adopted him, and another week with me will hopefully help him adjust a bit more beforehand. He's having a really hard time with Ginger's passing. He's confused, anxious, and sticking to me like glue. I catch him listening hard to the slightest noises in the house, and looking around the porch and backyard sometimes. It's pretty obvious he's listening and looking for Ginger, and doesn't understand what's happened. He looks at me sometimes with these big, sad, questioning eyes and it's heartbreaking. We're trying to be cheerful and matter of fact with him to help curb some of the anxiety. We're taking him for extra walks to burn off some of that tension, too. I don't know what else to do but to give him time.
You know what doesn't help George (or us, for that matter)? Marco calling several times a day, "GINGEEEERR! GINGER!" Every time he hears us call for George, he has to follow up and call for Ginger, too. It's really sad. (Be aware of these things if you ever get the crazy idea that owning a parrot would be nothing but fun). It makes us sad to hear him call out to her, and it's pretty obvious he's wondering what happened to her and where she went. Maybe he's missing her, too. We had her already when he came to live with us all those years ago.
I've discovered that grief is exhausting. Gregg, George, and I have all been feeling tired and listless. In an effort to take care of us all, I did some cooking yesterday afternoon. I made spaghetti sauce from scratch and let it simmer for hours, filling up the house with a delicious smell. When I looked in on the boys after finishing some stuff in the kitchen, this is what I saw.
Poor guys were both worn out. Gregg never naps, so this was a surprise. I stayed as quiet as I could and let them sleep for the next hour or so. Later we had big bowls of delicious spaghetti, the best (and biggest) meal we had eaten in many days. We both felt a little better for it. I made a lot of sauce, so the extra is slowly heating back up in the crockpot for tonight's meal. It smells even better today.
So that's it. We're hanging in there and coping with this transition for our little family as best we can. Thanks again for all the support. It really means a lot.