I sit in my backyard, crying. I look up at my father, stone faced in the rain. “I know. But why? Why can’t I see him?”

“Shut up. I know you can. Skips a generation” he said walking away. He wasn’t even sad. Let alone apologetic. My dog saved my life and lost his. And what does my father have to say for it? “Shut up”. I wish he died instead. I would still have the one thing that brought me joy.

I show up to school the next day looking like I had smoked a bush. My nose was running so much that I couldn’t breathe. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe I would suffocate and pass in the middle of learning new multiplication facts. They already taught me this. Fifth grade is useless.

Going home, I see him. He sees me. He runs up to me. He jumps onto me. He’s better than ever. I just stand there in front of him, crying a river. I wish I could speak to him. I want to pet him. Tell him I’m okay. I wish I could hear him bark at random bikers. I wish he could be with me again. I see my mother in the distance. She’s saying something. I don’t care. My stare is at him. He did nothing wrong. I cry so much for so long that the sidewalk where I stand looks like a storm has hit it.

He then jumps, trying to get his now clean paws to dirty me with invisible mud. He passes right through me. I can’t have him back. He still doesn’t know. Nobody who dies knows their dead. They don’t know how either. I imagine it’s like being born. Once they die their just confused on why nobody is talking to them. It usually takes a year or three for them to figure it out. My mother still doesn’t know. She somehow can still interact with some things.

I wish I could hear ghosts too. I wish they could hear me. I just want to hug my dog again. One more time. Who cares what’s going on around me. Loud noises, bright lights, and just pain. I’ve felt worse pain. The pain I felt the moment before was worse than this. He’s trying to help. I don’t want him to. I can finally hug him again.