My Dearest Pooja,

it feels challenging to even accept that I’m writing to you in the universe as of 6/3/11, rather than find you in my home, to tell you directly how much you have meant to me.  The words have been forming, and they feel inadequate.

• You have been my anchor for 15 years.
• You have been part of the definition of my existence.
• My daily script included you.
• We have been extremely loyal to each other and have been there together during ups and downs.  I nursed you through a life-threatening dog attack, hip surgery and various life changes, as you nursed me by being my constant, loving companion, though bossy and ornery at times, just as I was.

Dear Pooja, how do I continue my loyalty to you now?  How do I continue to take care of you now?  This phase doesn’t fit in the script of my life and function with you.  Where do I go from here?

I am not and was not ready for the story of you and me to end.  Maybe you knew that and you left me on a Friday when my husband could help that weekend with my daughter so I could grieve and also leaving after my son was out of school, as he will be there tomorrow when my husband goes back to work.  He is also spared having to face school during this time of healing.

I can not be mad at you because that would make me not loyal and devoted to you.  But I have felt mad at something for taking you away from me in a way that I can’t even get you back.  There is not a chance of reunion in this lifetime for me and when you got lost and I found you at the shelter.

Your passing does not have a solution like your previous wounds; I can not fix it, and I am not in control.  That must be part of the loyal, parental anger I feel.  I would not desert you and I would find you to the end of the Earth, as I know you would do for me.  But you are not on this Earth now and I have been paralyzed and lost with grief and shock.  Now what?  How do I march forward without you by my side?

You have been the security blanket I’ve unknowingly had for 15 years.  All was well at a basic, constant level when you were in the picture.  You helped me feel secure, grounded, centered, and loved.  It is hard to look at any space in my home and notice that you are not in it.  With you in my life, the days seemed sunnier, the flowers felt prettier, and smelled nicer.  I cared more about having my plants grow and enjoying the warmer weather with you.  I enjoyed the breeze through you, watching you sniff it, basking in the sun and environment around you in our back yard, just within the past week.  How do I experience and enjoy life without you?

Your deteriorating health sent me to tears, as I was forced to consider the inevitable with your age.  Reading about potential help with your ailments (that I was aware of) gave me hope, which I held to as you went to see the vet this Friday, 6/3.  I assumed you would come home that night with medication to fix things, and I would continue my regimen of caring for you and the rest of my kids.  I was not prepared to consider you may not come home.  Now I try to conjure up every moment of that day, as it ended up being my last with you.  Had I known it would be, would it be easier?  Or is it like children getting a vaccination shot, when you may not want them to know the exact moment and be distracted, to lessen the pain and fear of anticipation?

Your loyalty extended to my children, whom you watched enter the world, grow, and love you.  You chose to sleep near me at the end of the day, every single day, even when your back legs were failing you recently, and you would push your body up to your spot in my room and life.  When we limited how much you pushed your body by restricting you and you stopped protesting with your barks; I was filled with sadness, knowing your were resigning to a new phase.  This was not the Pooja I knew, and I was scared.

I am so sorry for being so bad at letting you go, and if that caused you further suffering and a heavier burden.  I’m sorry for my selfishness in thinking there would not ever be a good time for you to go.  You ended up looking after me even in your passing by ensuring I was with the support I needed.

As much as I hurt in losing you, I will never regret the love you brought in my life and that of my family the past 15 years, which will always be a part of me.  You have blessed me and my family immeasurably.  Thank you, Pooja, you are a “prayer” answered, as your name means.  I pray that I will see you someday, in your peak physical form, flying through the air to catch a frisbee and chasing tennis balls.

Tennis balls will remind me of you along with everything else.  For now, just waking up, breathing and looking at anything reminds me of you.  My heart aches and feels empty at the same time.  I don’t want to be disloyal by not thinking about you and letting you go in anyway feels disloyal.  Giving up your body felt disloyal.  I will never be able to feel your soft ears that felt like the plant lamb’s ear in my yard.

Two weekends ago, I was noticing your triangular ears perked up as you were lounging next to my husband in the park.  You did not look aged.  You were beautiful, majestic, serene, and proud.  Looking into your eyes felt like I was looking at an old soul and that you could see my soul.  I am grateful for choosing to look into those eyes as you passed from this world.  And then I looked at the dreaded sight of your body not going up and down with breath.  You were still.  Your eyes and gaze remained the same.

Pooja, I will love you forever.  You are a part of me and my family and always will be.  I will be honoring you every time I love and nurture my family that I will always be loyal to, as you have been.  Rest in peace, my Princess Pooja and now my angel.