Dear Chester Pierre "Cheddie",

Mommy loves you and misses you so much. There has not been one day that has past since the day you left me that I have not thought about you. I miss you so much. I miss when you tried to get a bark out and you just made that funny grunt sound. I miss that the most. I miss how excited you would get and how you tried to act like you were a big boy. You were my big boy at only ten pounds and I loved every ounce of you. You were my little man , my son that I never had, the love of my life, my everything. And now even after one and half years have gone by I still can't seem to admit that you are not just gone and will be coming home that you have moved on into the arms of the Man that had created you and put you on this earth for me to eventually find you and to rescue you from having to live a miserable life outside in the freezing cold with no one to keep you warm or no one to hug you and to tell you how much you are loved. I still can't imagine how horrible it had to of been that winter while you tried to keep warm all by yourself in that cold dark chicken house with very little to eat. I don't think I will ever be able to understand how horrible it had to of been for you to of slept out side in the freezing cold or how you even made it when I knew how cold you would get just going outside to go potty in the winter. I promised you that you would never be cold again when you came to live with me and I made you a toasty warm snow suit and kept you covered up at night next to me so you would stay snuggley warm and never be cold again.

I would have given you more if you could of only stayed here longer with me. I loved you more than my life itself and I still love you little guy. I loved your sneaky way that you would do things to me to tease me and I told you that you were a little monster when you would run away from me and almost cause me to have heart failure running after you in an attempt to catch you. The whole time that you were running from me I saw you smiling as you turned your little head to see if I was still chasing you.

I did everything in my power to make sure that you had the best food and the warmest bed and I did this because I had to protect you from those things that would have hurt you if I had just left you to go out on your own. I was so scared of loosing you for all the years I had you I never was able to relax and just live ...I was always afraid of what I would ever have done without you and how would I ever be able to go on without your sweet little smile to see on that little face of yours every day.

Cheddie... Mommas so sorry I wasn't able to keep you here longer and I hope and pray that you know how much I love you and that I didn't keep you here to make you suffer. I thought that I would be able to help you to get better because of all the information I had read of the different cases and how the little dogs were healed. I am angry with those people that wrote those books on natural healing because they made me think that your heart problem was a simple thing to fix and everything would be alright.

Thank you so much for all of your self that you gave to me and for helping me get through the tough times in my life. Cheddie I love you so much and I miss you more than I can ever explain to you. Mommy loves you my little man. Thank you for the last kissy you gave me that last day. Thanks for sharing your life with me. I hope you had a good time here.

Love,

Momma

Dear Mina,

It's two weeks today since our last full day together. I wake up every morning thinking about you and hoping, hoping to see you when I walk out into the living room.

We had a glorious last day together, didn't we? I was thrilled to see you standing at the window, ready to take a walk in the sunshine and cool morning air. It was a typical walk, except for its length. You surprised me by walking all the way to the front of the property and all the way around, sniffing everything along the way and looking up at me from time to time.

I love that look when we're walking. You're checking on me, making sure I'm OK if I'm too quiet. The love in your eyes always prompts me to bend down and kiss your head.

You're in heaven, I know that, and you're happy and safe and warm and well fed and you have friends - no doubt you've made a lot of friends - and loved. Do you know how much I love you? I worry about that a lot. One can make a lot of stupid mistakes in 13 years and I made a lot with you. I left you behind on a couple of vacations and overnight trips and sometimes I didn't get home very early. I'm so sorry for every time I ever hurt your feelings - I didn't mean it. Please know, Mina baby, that I love you more than anyone ever and I tried to show it every day. You are my one true love and you will always be ...

I went to the sanctuary yesterday for the first time in a month and I cried as soon as I turned up the long drive. I remembered talking to you on the warm August day and telling you about all the wonderful animals you'd see and the nice people you'd meet. It makes me smile to think of you walking away from the tame geese who were so curious about you, and how you barked at the cows as they all walked up to the fence to get a look at you. I didn't stay for the entire event because I was missing you and wanted to come home to you.

Whenever I'm away I still have this urge to get home to you. Wherever I am this feeling that I have to get home is always there. You were always, always my first priority, even when I screwed up.

Thank you, thank you my dearest love, for taking such good care of me for your entire life. You licked away my tears, you acted the fool to get me to cheer up, you laid by my side whenever I was sick, and you never once let me down in any way. Not even when you ate something off the ground that made you sick!

I miss you, Mina Bean. I miss you more than I ever thought possible. I know that time will pass and I'll go on with this life in some fashion. And I know that some day I'll die, too, and we'll be together forever. Don't worry about me, sweetie, I'll figure this out.

You are in my heart and you will always be in my heart, baby girl.

All my love ...

Love,

Mommy

Dear Sofee,

I'm sorry I cried like I did when I last saw you. I knew you were still with me, but holding your lifeless body that last time at emergency vet was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I only knew you two short years. The day I saw you at the shelter I knew you were supposed to be with me; I wouldn't change a thing, even if I knew I would feel completely empty after you were gone. I didn't know the vaccine was going to take your feisty little life from me; I didn't know life was that fragile. Never again.

I hope you know how special your life here as Sofee was.

No one ever thought I would adopt a Pomeranian. They were used to seeing me with "tough" dogs, but they didn't know how tough you were! I don't know how many people you made scream as your tiny 3-pound body came leaping out of my jacket, teeth bared. You made me laugh every day, Sofee. You should know that. I try to laugh now, but it's hard. It's been almost three years and I still see your little black body everywhere I go. Do you come visit us Sofee? Is that you? Do you ever sit and watch me leaf through the few pictures I took of you, knowing I took you for granted? Do you think it's silly that I'm still so sad over you? I wonder, what it's like, death.

You saw me through a couple very difficult years. You taught me many lessons about love, trust and finally just letting go of your past. You did that SoSo, and I try every day, but it's all I can do sometimes.

I feel cheated, like I should have had you longer than I did. I know you're in heaven with Amerk, and I know you will watch over him and wait for me together. Tell him I love him, I know he knows.

Somewhere over the rainbow. See you soon.

Love,

S

Dear Gilly,

I miss your big white self-contained you.

Love,

J

Dear Oz,

Like the other cats who have come into our family over the years, you chose us in your time of need. When your dad -- my brother -- first met you, you were badly hurt and in need of love. What a blessing you have been to all of us. Our first native Tucsonan family member! You were with us for over thirteen years and watched our family take root here in the desert and evolve. There are many memories. Some things I loved most about you:

You quickly learned that the Discorfano family is a loud bunch, your typical effusive Italian clan -- and you fit in right away. You were the most vocal cat I've ever met. I remember one time I was talking to Grandpa on the phone and he said, "Wait... here's Oz.... say hello to Oz!" And then I heard a long and loud meow into the phone. Another time, I was standing in front of the refrigerator and I felt a tap on my shoulder: not only were you using your paw to get my attention, but you also meowed with great gusto to express your desire for a treat. Another Oz-ism I'll miss is your penchant for hiding yourself away inside the kitchen cabinets. How cute it was when I'd open up a cabinet to get a pot or a container and see those beautiful blue eyes staring at me while you were sitting pretty. Of course, another meow, just to say hello to me.

Grandpa loves strawberries so much that he says in heaven strawberries are always in season. It's appropriate that, above all else, it was the smell of strawberries that threw you into a fit of ecstasy! If someone left strawberries on the counter, they almost always wound up on the floor because you couldn't resist playing with the container. And if someone left an empty grocery bag on the countertop that had carried strawberries in it, you would find a way to roll around on top of the bag, blissful as you enveloped yourself in the lingering aroma.

We're going to miss you. But I imagine you, right now, rolling around in a big strawberry patch. I hope you've reunited with Oreo and that, by now, you've introduced the beloved family dog of my youth to your cousin Pushkin. I hope the three of you are having a good day in heaven together.

Love,

Aunt Sha

Dear Pushkin,

A long pause after just writing out your name. I'm sitting here, with paper and pen in hand and thinking that there is so much to say, multiple lifetimes worth of thoughts and feelings. I won't even try to say it all here -- not in one letter or in forty. But I thought writing some letters to you would be a nice way to spend some time visiting with you now. I'm so used to having you right here. I honestly can say that not for one moment did I ever take you for granted; but I'd forgotten what it was like to live in a world without you, a world without you physically present in it. Although there were a few times during our lifetime together when we were physically apart for a stretch of time -- a vacation, a semester -- this is an altogether different experience because of the finality of it, and there's no way I could have ever fully anticipated what your absence would be like and the feelings that I'm now having to endure throughout my waking hours.

I've been looking for you now for over three weeks, since your passing on the morning of February 1st. I've been left completely unsatisfied with any mystical or metaphysical explanation of where you've gone, or how you're still with me. Without dwelling on the obvious depressing aspects, I'm certain that I will, each day for the rest of my days, continue looking... and hoping. As much as I loved your little beagle body (that gave you so much trouble sometimes), I will not need it to recognize you when our day of reunion comes.

I'll try to keep these letters meaningful and brief; my mind is rambling these days, but I'll do my best not to digress on these pages too often. So let me stay specific. I want to share with you something that happened today. I went to mass today at noon because it's Ash Wednesday. You don't have to be particularly religious to appreciate Ash Wednesday: it's simply a reminder that we all are here on the planet, in these bodies, for a finite period of time. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Regardless of one's personal beliefs about life or the hereafter, none of us can argue with the fact that our bodies eventually come to their end. A universal, inescapable part of life. This is the first Ash Wednesday, however, when I'm feeling the full blow of death's reality. Before you, I'd experienced death mostly second-hand -- friends of friends, headlines in the news, or in the guise of characters in a novel or film.

During the mass, I went to reach for the offertory basket being passed around from pew to pew. I reached to a man who was sitting in front of me. I'd noticed this young man when he first came into the church before the service began; he moved awkwardly, evidently suffering from some kind of palsy. But as I reached for the basket, he motioned further down his own pew, where the basket needed to be passed before making its way to our row behind him. I realized my mistake and apologized quietly for so anxiously jumping the gun. I've just started this month attending a weekly service again, and I'm still not quite familiar with the way things work in this particular church. The last time I attended a church on Sundays with some degree of consistency was back in New York, years ago. I'm still feeling a bit like an outsider, which keeps me more watchful and less relaxed than I would be if I were a regular there.

The parishioners in this man's row were a ways down from where we were sitting, so he stood up and walked the basket to within arm's reach of them. As he did this, hardly self-conscious while moving in his slow uneven steps, he smiled at me and then whispered one word: "Patience." And I thought immediately to myself that God or you (or both) was sending me a message. But what exactly about patience? What am I supposed to have patience about? Patience because grief subsides? Because, over time, I will get better at living without you? That, eventually, I'll be able to feel genuine happiness again? Patience to wait for the day, at my own moment of death, when all the mysteries surrounding life and death will be revealed? Patience to wait for the day when you and I will be together again? Patience with myself as I try to make sense of this in a way I can live with until that time comes? I confess that I'm feeling very, very impatient. I don't want to be without you for even one more minute.

Something else: Watching this young man struggling to move his legs reminded me of the times when, in those last few months, you would still want to go for walks even though you were having trouble coordinating your stiff hind legs. I could see you working so hard at it. You loved life so much, despite your illnesses and difficulties; sometimes, I think, your challenges made you all the more adamant about living life and soaking it all up. How many times you stood up and showed up for the day, when I know that a weaker spirit would have given up! I envy you that enthusiasm for life, your absolute love of life -- and I feel almost guilty now as I write this, because I'm thinking the whole time I'm writing I didn't sign up for this. I don't want this. I am, of course, still keenly aware of all the blessings in my life. And your two brothers are my greatest comfort and inspiration now; I know it's my job to keep on loving them and protecting them, and I'm so grateful for that. During this first month, they have been the main reason I've gotten out of bed in the mornings. So I appreciate all that is still good in my life; and yet there are moments when I think to myself what I wouldn't give to be able to transcend all of this and get to wherever you are now.

I can be very patient with others, especially when I'm assuming the role of teacher in one setting or another. That said, my lack of patience -- whether it's with circumstances or with myself, or with someone else who happens in my day -- is definitely something I need to work on in this lifetime. I already knew this about myself before I lost you. Of course, I had no idea that the lesson on patience coming my way would be of such a formidable magnitude. I have enough trouble waiting out the small stuff. Now, through your death, you are teaching me more about patience than all the other life lessons thus far combined. Every moment, every breath I take each day, for the rest of my days -- a test of patience that I have no choice but to endure.

As I keep looking and hoping.

Love,

Mom