Every single day I think about you, sweet girl. And while the tears come with less frequency and urgency, the loss is palpable. You’ve come home in a little tin that sits on my mantle next to an illustration of us, and that makes me feel less heartbroken. Know that I’m sometimes white-knuckling it, trying in faith and love to give my life back the mindfulness you had forced me to cultivate. Every day I remind myself of the gift that was you, and how you’re now somewhere, paw-swatting the air, being as difficult and insouciant as I taught you to be.