Blissqueen

The odor of the dead is strong. Once you smell it you never forget it. It gets in your nose and it gets in your mind. I don't know which it gets into more.
I came home yesterday and my cat had been dug up. She was about 5 feet from were I had buried her. It seemed overwhelming and I broke down for a minute and sobbed. I didn't care if people could see me out there crying with my shovel. Then I thought how I'd make a lousy murderer, and how unreconcilable life can be. I thought of the pictures of my great-great- grandpas each standing 6'2″ in front of a tree that they had just chopped down. A tree that's trunk was wider then they were tall. If they could clear a whole field of trees with only axes, I could surely dig a deeper hole. I bet that they had to bury a few dead things and a few dead people in their time. And if they could do it, I could do it. So, I somehow managed to carry her the 5 feet and cover her again. This whole business of burying dead things, this whole business of decomposition, this damn cycle of life is so much bigger then me. It is like crying over rain.