Plus, he was 83, meaning that the only way we would die together would be if we were to die in a fire. Fortunately that didn't happen.
I miss him terribly, though; for the first two weeks after he died, I wasn't willing or able to believe he had passed on, even though I had been at his side when his spirit left his body. I would walk in the door and automatically think he was home.
He was embalmed and cremated, and now his ashes reside on the shelf beside those of Tipper, our beloved golden retriever who passed away in the mid-90s. And that's probably as complete as it's ever going to be.
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