I don’t eat my crusts

I was doing alright. I’d made it through the whole weekend without crying.

There were those moments I almost forgot he was gone. When a friend stopped by Sunday, I instinctively wanted to grab the dog who never lets a guest get fully through the door before greeting them and looking for lovins. There was no dog to hold back.

I’m sad. I miss him. But the tears had finally ended. Until breakfast this morning.

I don’t eat my crusts. It started when I was a kid. I have no explanation. I just remove my crusts. Bear was always right there, eager and ready to gobble them up.

I ate toast for breakfast today. I didn’t cry when there was no Bear tripping me while I made toast. I didn’t promise “I’m making us toast, but, if you want any, you better go lay down”.

I tore my crusts off as usual. I ate my toast. Whenever Bear was grounded from human food (yes I ground my pets 😁), my daughter was always eager to eat my unwanted crusts.

I knocked on her bedroom door and offered, but she declined my crusts. I went to toss them in the garbage. That’s when the tears came.

The dumbest thing. Throwing away a few scraps. There I am, bawling my eyes out as I tilt my plate over the can.

It has always been our toast, Bear’s and mine. I don’t eat my crusts, and it left me standing over a trash can, crying my eyes out.


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