It has been 6 months since my little man, Voodoo, left us.
Every 4th, I instinctively cry. Every 4th, I try to remember something happy about him, and not why this day is so sad for me. Every 4th, I remember the people who were so kind with words of sympathy, solidarity, and love. But, every 4th, I still mourn.
Voodoo was a huge part of my life. At two months, he came to live me and my, then partner, now husband, and for 15 and a half years, he was a major part of our lives. He moved with us from Oklahoma to New Orleans, which is why he was named Voodoo. He moved back to OK with us 5 years later. He loved us both, but he and I had a special relationship, especially toward the end.
I hoped after all this time it would be easier, and, in some ways it is. I no longer cry every time I see his picture, like I did for almost two months. I can talk about him with tearing up. I spend more time talking about the things that made us happy or that were so quirky about him like the fact that when the dogs were outside, they come back to the door to be let in, but they all act different ways; Laveau, well, she just stands there until someone sees her. Her sister, Marigny, presses her nose against the door and sometimes scratches at it. The baby, Zatanna, she raises holy hell by barking until someone lets her back inside. Voodoo? Well, he would stand there for about a minute, if you didn't make it to the door in time, he would just walk off and it might be another 5, 10, 20 minutes before he decided to "allow" you to open the door for him to go back in. The other dogs respond to my call, not so much my husband (LOL), not Voodoo. Oh, he'd hear me, look at me, then go back to whatever he was doing. When I come downstairs after a long period, the dogs clamor at the gate, Voodoo would walk by, glance at me, and keep walking. He never tried to compete with the girls.
Voodoo also had a distinctive "woof". Despite his size, he could muster a loud-ish woof when he wanted attention or thought someone was in the house that shouldn't be. A few days ago, after working on some things in my office upstairs, I needed to go down to get a soda. Predictably the dogs hear me coming and started barking at the doggie gate. I heard his "woof". I KNOW I heard it. I almost fell down the stairs because I ran and missed two of them on the way down. My mind, for whatever reason, decided to torture me and make me think I would round the corner and see my little man looking at me, then casually walking off after a nod to my presence.
The reason I am relaying this, reliving this, is to let others who are in similar positions know, yes, it does get easier with time. Yes, the happy memories start to outweigh the grief. It is true, you will find yourself smiling more than tearing up when you think of the lost one. But there will be days, for whatever reason, the pain, sorrow, and grief will come back. It's OK. It will pass too, but it reminds you how much the one no longer with you physically is always with you.
I miss Voodoo.
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Your sorrow really comes through in what you've written here, but also the love joy that Voodoo brought to you life. 
It's so hard that we outlive them, and a little piece of our heart goes with them. We still have a dog (12 yrs. old) and two cats (14 yrs. old) and I've made the difficult decision that there will be no more. I just can't deal with it when they die anymore.
Also, hello fellow OK Duer! 
