R.I.P.

Yeah, it's going to be that kind of post. As most of you know by now, I came home from work one week ago today and found that Booger had passed away. All I can think is that I am this big guy; I've literally moved a couch by myself, and an eerily still ball of fur can break me down in ways that I could never imagine and can't easily get past.

The loss of a pet is an interesting thing. You can't really take time to grieve, because no job has a policy on how many days you get off for the death of your animal (Does it even count as a death in the family?), and it may just be me, but it feels odd to ask for prayers like you would if your grandmother died (although in truth I was closer to Booger than I was with any of my grand parents).

I've realized one thing through this experience, however. I'm ruining a communion thought here (I'm sorry for those of you who will here this again in a couple of weeks), but that Wednesday after Booger died was so hard. No one at my work cared; my students actually laughed when I told them about my loss. I didn't bother telling people at the comic book shop. It was only when I got to church that night that I could really express my grief. It is only at church where there were people who would mourn with me (regardless of their personal feelings about Booger in particular or cats in general). I think so often we come to church and we try to leave all of our cares at the door and put on our happy faces, but what I have realized is that church is the only place where we can come with all of our baggage, all of our pain, all of our sin, and find people who will share the burden and a God who will give us strength and healing.

Thank you guys for being there for me. I love you.