Loving The Imperfect
Watching my two canine boys sleep stretched out on the floor on a relaxing night, I remembered my beloved Porkchop, now three months since he departed, and how quiet the house is without him.
I realize now what I knew before; Porkchop was the one who jumped like a spring to steal the food off the counter and he broke the silence when his barking demanded my attention. He was the one who instigated and chased the cat. No doubt, Porkchop was the pain in the @ss.
I remember the many times I came in the house to find a sea of garbage when he had dumped the trash can all over the kitchen floor. He would look at me with those sad eyes.
I remember how he used to get himself in a coil, his head hidden between his paws which I called hands, when he did something wrong. Porkchop was an incorrigible child.
But I miss him.
We miss what is not perfect. And we don’t always love what is ideal. We love what and who annoy us and make us crazy and we love them because we love them. We love what allows itself to be loved and sometimes in spite of it.
That is the beauty of it, I guess. To love just because we love. And because it feels so frigging good to be loved.
And then it feels so frigging lonely when that love is gone and remembering the wrong they did does not make their absence easier.
But remembering how much we loved them still brings a smile to my face in spite of the tears that fall in their memory.
3 years ago