You’re Home

 Dear Stinky,

I brought you home on Wednesday.  I know you’re no longer here on Earth, but it makes me feel better knowing that what is left of you is here with us.  In the Snuggle Room, where you loved to be.  I brought my baby home, and I hope you’re as proud of me as I am for adulting this much.

It wasn’t easy, but I’d do it again for you in a heartbeat.  I was there when you passed, and I brought you home.  Seatbelted you into the front seat, since we already have Tammy’s dog Peppers your car seat.  He loves it, by the way.  Thank you for spreading your love.

I remember how much you loved going bye-byes in my car (except going to the vet, of course).  You loved sitting up high—I’m so glad I was able to get that car in time for you to enjoy it the past year and a quarter.  You loved sitting up high—you always did!  Whether that meant in the car or the dining room table.  You also had serious FOMO, so I guess that’s one benefit of Heaven—your bird’s eye view.

I just wanted you to know, in case you didn’t see, that you’re home.  Your paw prints in clay, you paw and snoot ink prints, you lock of tail hair (that’s sticking out of the bag!) and body hair, your ashes—they’re all here with us.  And one day when I have a house of my own, I’ll bring one of your clay paw prints with me.  So my house will have a Stinkin’ shrine too.  So you’ll always be home.  Because 🎵 home is wherever I’m with you🎵. ♥️🐾

The Day the Snow Stopped Stinkin’

 Dear Stinky,

I love you.  I will never stop loving you.  It’s been almost two weeks since you passed, and even though I know we had to make your pain stop it is so incredibly painful to live without you.

I was preparing myself for the wave of grief that would come that first nice spring day, likely in mid-March, when I would not be breaking out your pink stroller with white polka dots to take you for a stroll throughout our neighbourhood.  Where it would have been equally fun for both of us to go for a walk— of course walks with you were fun, but since you were covered in hair nose to toes winter walks were likely a bit more comfortable for you.

But what I didn’t properly prepare for was today, our first snow without you.  And man, did it hurt.  I don’t want to complain to you in these letters to make you feel bad for leaving us, because I know you had to go and that God loves animals so you’re being taken care of, but I need to let you know how much I really, really miss you.

Today I should have been layering up to take you in the backyard to frolic and bound in the snow.  I should have giggled at the sight of you in one of your many sweaters or the little jacket I got you last year.  I know you never were a fan of clothes, but I think you were even less of a fam of “jingle berries”—the snowballs that would stick to your belly hair—so a cute as the clothes were they were also super practical.  And they made for great photos.  Argh you were SO photogenic.  The camera loved you, and thank God you put up with my incessant documentation of your life because now it’s… it’s all I have.

Snow days aren’t nearly as Stinky now, and that’s a real shame.  I know how much you loved the snow, and I hope I can get to a place in my grief where the snow makes me only smile at your memories instead of cry over memories I’ll never make.

You are my world, Stinky.  And I am so grateful to be your sister.  And I am so grateful to have been your HHA and, eventually, your hospice nurse.

Please don’t forget me in Heaven.  I promise I will never forget you.  You are the embodiment of love and fluff and sass and Stink— and your 16 1/4 years have left such a Stinkin’ legacy on this Earth. 

Always and forever,

Luvy