Hey Mari… How are you? Good I hope. I’m awful, to tell the truth.
I miss you so much tonight.
You’re on the front page of the paper today. You know… that stuff that used to line your crate when we met you in the shelter? You have no concept of what that means – no idea of the number of people who are holding their breath with us. And you know that’s exactly why we love you.
It’s really astounding and wonderful that this has happened. So many people called, so many people want to help, so many people “get it,” so many looking for you and trying to get you back to us. We couldn’t be more happy to share you and of course, in part of my head all I can think is that you’re finally getting the attention I always knew you deserved. Also in my secret imagination – the part I’m usually afraid to talk about – it’s not winter anymore. It’s summertime and we’re walking through Davis square and someone stops me to ask if you are, “that dog” and I give them a huge smile and tell them the incredible story of how you came home while you sit there, laughing at the attention, oblivious to the why.
But tonight it’s dark, and it’s cold, and the truth is that I can barely articulate myself. And you’re not here, and I don’t know how to find you, and I’m just scared and sad.
Mari you know that we sometimes we refer to you as “the best birthday gift ever?” because technically you were a birthday gift for me – although the gift wasn’t you so much as it was Dita agreeing she was ok with a dog: her first.
We don’t have any right to demand gifts – we don’t get to ask for them, and they only count if they’re granted without strings. So I’m trying not to be greedy: I’m trying not to feel slighted that you were taken away from me for reasons I don’t understand. I’m trying not to feel that this is all so unfair and ridiculous. Above all I’m trying to put one foot in front of the other and move. I’m trying to celebrate what we had and not let the loss of my dog tear my heart into tiny pieces because, after all, people lose things all the time, right?
But honestly, Mari? I’m not really good at any of that.
I don’t have any illusions about my ability to make things right anymore, but I don’t think I know how to stop trying. I never could accept the world broken the way it is. I’m not good at hiding how I feel about things. And I always peeked under the tree for my presents. But truly, little one, I’m not sure how much more I can break.
Please come home.