August 9, 2026, Second Update

So, apparently staring at the ceiling all day eventually got boring enough that my body decided to give me a random burst of energy around 6 p.m.

I decided I was going to take advantage of it. I went downstairs and started working on setting up my shop space a little bit. Nothing crazy. I figured I’d spend some time down there, accomplish something and maybe end the day feeling like I had done more than lie in bed.

I was down there for about thirty minutes when I heard a crash upstairs.

Now, Beaker, bless his heart, cannot be left to his own devices for very long. I also can’t bring him downstairs with me right now because the space is still a mess, and there are too many things he could potentially get into or hurt himself on.

So when I heard the crash, I bolted upstairs.

There was Beaker, standing in the living room on what used to be my mom’s little lunch table.

That table currently houses five very expensive resin sphere holders.

Well, it did house five intact, very expensive resin sphere holders.

The loud crash I heard was my beautiful raven sphere holder hitting the floor. It is now broken. Thankfully, it’s repairable, but I’ll have to sell it at a discount because I’m not going to sell something that has been repaired as if nothing ever happened to it.

Naturally, I got mad.

And naturally, I called Beaker a dickhead.

And just like that, I thought about my mom.

I can’t even count how many times I called that dog a dickhead in front of her. Mom would laugh and immediately come to his defense, as if this little menace hadn’t done exactly whatever ridiculous thing I was accusing him of doing.

She absolutely adored him.

Beaker was her best friend.

And he loved her too.

That’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. I’m not the only one in this house who lost her. Beaker’s entire little world changed too. She was here every day. She was part of his routine, part of his home and part of his family. He doesn’t understand where she went or why she isn’t coming back.

He just knows she’s not here.

So there I was, standing over my broken raven, pissed off at my dog, when this completely ordinary memory of my mom laughing and defending him came rushing back.

And suddenly I wasn’t mad anymore.

I was just sad.

So now we’re back in bed.

The shop can wait. The raven can be repaired. The downstairs will still be there tomorrow.

Right now, Beaker is snuggled up with me, and I’m reminded that the two of us are trying to figure out this new quiet house together.

My little burst of energy turned into another wave of grief.

Funny how quickly that happens.

Also, he’s still a dickhead.

Mom would absolutely defend him for that too.