Every time I walk down the little hallway to our main floor bathroom, this mirror reminds me of a Jamie story. One that seemed sad at first, but the more I've thought about it the more I take comfort in this memory of Jamie unflinchingly staring in the mirror, like the wise soul I always believed him to be.
A couple of weeks before his death, I couldn't find him when I was turning off the lights to go to bed. Megan and the other dogs had gone upstairs, but Jamie wasn't in his usual spots in the parlor or kitchen. I found him standing in the little hallway leading to our main floor bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror on the door. I called to him, and he turned around and followed me up the stairs to bed.
I mentioned it to Megan that night, because it seemed odd. Jamie has rarely paid attention to his own reflection in a mirror. Nancy stares at her reflection every chance she gets, but that's never been a Jamie thing.
Then two days before his death, it happened again: I found him just standing there staring at his reflection while the rest of the pack was upstairs in the bedroom.This time, I watched him for a while. He had no expression at all: no fear, no stress, no concerns or questions, just staring at himself in the mirror.
I called to him, and we walked slowly side by side up the stairs to join the rest of the pack. Two days later, he was gone.