How can you mend a broken heart?

The other evening while my attention was absorbed by a phone call, my sweet girl was sitting quietly nearby flipping through an old photo album. At one point I glanced in her direction and was shocked to see her little body hunched over, weeping. I motioned to her to find out what had happened and she lifted up the photo album to show me this:

(Not his best photo)

It has been 8 months. 8 whole months. And she still dissolves into a puddle at the sight of him. Not all the time, of course. But sometimes, still.

As I held her, I had to let her know that I still miss him, too, and think of him at the oddest of times. Like the other day when I opened up the bathroom cabinet and remembered that we always needed to keep the cabinet shut or he would simply HAVE to check it out, wide-eyed and tentative, forcing his massive girth into the small space because, because .... well, I just don't know why. I'm sure he got trapped in there once or twice. Not the brightest bulb was he. Nope, not too bright.

But gosh, I miss him!

What I wouldn't give right now to lay my weary head on his oh-so-soft, warm, motoring tummy and make him comfort me (you always had to make him) and then laugh when he immediately set about cleaning whatever area I had besmirched with my offensive human touch.

Miss you, Seb ... you big dummy.