There are moments that I thought I could live fine without him. That I will be better with lesser baggage and that I will grow to forget him...
But maybe I was wrong.
For the moments I pretended to not care and to not be affected, I actually miss him terribly much.
It has been almost 6 months since we were separated. I can still remember that night when he was taken away. I cried. I cried like a kid, bawling my eyes out because I had to part with him.
My tiny little man, who loved me like no other. In his tiny world, I was his strength and his hero. I was the one he would run to every morning if I was around.
I was the one who allowed him to sleep with me, under the same comforter.
I was the one who comforted him, hugged him, and showered him with care when he was sick and tired.
I remember how frail and weak he was when he fell sick. How he could barely even walk and how it broke my heart so much that I cried when he fell into my arms after trying so hard to stand on his stick thin legs.
I remember how when he was first brought home at only 6 weeks, one day after my 24th birthday, he was shivering and wailing the whole night, and he only stopped when I put him in my hands and kept him warm. He was only slightly longer than the size of my palm then. So tiny but so full of energy.
I taught him how to sit, how to lie down, how to give high-five, how to play dead, and how to jump.
I bought him all his toys. His favourite drumstick plush toy, which I had replaced so many times with new drumsticks because he only likes drumstick, and nothing else.
I did research on all his food, kept tab of his allergies and things that will cause him to be sick.
Now, I don't get to do any of these for him anymore. It is no longer my duty to care for him. No longer my responsibility as a "mother" to make sure he is well at all times.
I was the one who comforted him, hugged him, and showered him with care when he was sick and tired.
I remember how frail and weak he was when he fell sick. How he could barely even walk and how it broke my heart so much that I cried when he fell into my arms after trying so hard to stand on his stick thin legs.
I remember how when he was first brought home at only 6 weeks, one day after my 24th birthday, he was shivering and wailing the whole night, and he only stopped when I put him in my hands and kept him warm. He was only slightly longer than the size of my palm then. So tiny but so full of energy.
I taught him how to sit, how to lie down, how to give high-five, how to play dead, and how to jump.
I bought him all his toys. His favourite drumstick plush toy, which I had replaced so many times with new drumsticks because he only likes drumstick, and nothing else.
I did research on all his food, kept tab of his allergies and things that will cause him to be sick.
Now, I don't get to do any of these for him anymore. It is no longer my duty to care for him. No longer my responsibility as a "mother" to make sure he is well at all times.
He was my tiny man.
My tiny furry companion.
I miss you, Alffy.
And I hope you have not forgotten me ... and that you will always have that special place for me, just like I have for you.
