It’s been a year since Moose left us. In a lot of ways, it hardly seems like that much time could have possibly gone by. The pain is still so real and the emptiness almost tangible. A year without cuddle trains. A year without searching for the right sized sweater to keep his little body warm. A year without the little man that holds such a big part of my heart.
When I look back on the blog I wrote a year ago, I can still feel the weight of the day and clearly remember the dark days that followed. I am so thankful though, that Jay and I created silly stories about Moose because they have defintely helped to keep his spirit alive.
Moose was an author. When he passed, he was in the process of writing the story of his 952nd year (for the 952nd time). Moose was the pilot of his own plane. When his engine was in for repair, the Ass would take him on his daily delivery route. He was a hunter that ate marsupials. Moose is/was a model. Moose was 952 big and small AND 952 short and tall.
I love and miss him 952.
