A Letter For Luca

Hey Lou,

I just wanted to let you know, you’re so brave. All the time. (Okay, maybe not all the time but brave enough when it counts.)  

I love the guilty face you make when I’m eating and I catch you staring at me and you quickly look away. 

And I love the way you get excited and wag your tail on the floor loud enough to wake the neighbors downstairs. 

And I love the way you like to share the same pillow when we snuggle, as if you know those things are for your head. 

I miss our walks. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss them. It’s been hard to not be able to do that with you. I go by myself sometimes, but some days it’s still hard to pull myself out when I’m leaving you behind at home. It just doesn’t feel right.

I miss playing and seeing you jump and catch a ball midair. And seeing you act all tough around a dog twice your size. And being kind of a dick around a dog half your size, too. But you’ve come a long way with that. 

You’re learning you don’t need to protect me all the time. No. It’s my job to look out for you. And these next couple months especially, pup – I got you. I’m so sorry this year has been so rough on you.

It breaks my heart seeing you in pain. I know you just want to play and chase squirrels, and I’m the downer that’s always holding you back.

Heck, even on 3 legs and you’re still ready to go, go, go. You’re such a knucklehead. I can’t let you out of my sight for a second or you end up jumping around like a little puppy. 

I love that your spirit is still so youthful, though. It hasn’t been dampered a bit. 

So we’re going to go on this journey together, to get you back to being you. But I have to warn you, it’s going to suck for a bit, first. It’s going to be dead boring.

But this is just the part 
Where the caterpillar needs a minute
To collect itself 
And to reflect on all it’s been
And all it’s about to be
A minute
To say goodbye
To say hello
And though it looks like nothing is happening –
It looks pretty damn boring 
In that cocoon –
Magic is happening. 
It’s becoming more like itself

And that’ll be you, too 
I’m here for all of it 
You’re not alone. 

I know you’re not going to be you for a bit.
And I’m not going to be my normal me, either. 
I’ll need to be pretty hard on you 
But bear with me, pup. 
I’m not that good at this part.
I’ve never done this before
And I’m sure I’m going to mess up.

But I’m going to try my darndest to make sure we both come out of this even stronger.
Because you’re my pup.
And I’m your person.

If we can slow down and hold this space, there’s no limit to all the places we’ll be able to go, all that we’ll be able to do. But we need to rest first.

We’ll take some time and regroup. 
We’ll keep our feet planted. 
Against every urge to the contrary.
Just remember, this isn’t forever. 

Your doctor is a nice lady. I trust her: she cares about you and she knows what she’s doing. I wrote her a note to let her know how much you mean to me, and that I trust her to take good care of you, and that I’m glad she’s in our corner. 

I might cry when I drop you off, though. And I might break down when the tech asks me those questions again.

About if something goes wrong.
“Is she a DNR?”
I might cry on the way home. I might cry if I see my phone ringing and it’s the hospital.
I’m so afraid of losing you; it kills me.
I’m sorry if I sometimes hold on too tight. Or I’m sorry if I shut down because it’s hard to take in how much I love you or how much you love me. 

Everyone keeps saying you’re lucky to have me. 
But I’m lucky to have you, pup. 
You’re always there for me. 
You’re always there.
Thanks for being my partner in this crazy ride of a life.

So Lou, have a good surgery. I’ll be here waiting to pick you up with your floppy ears and loopy smile.

One day soon we’ll go on walks again, all around this damn town. And plenty more towns, too. There’s a lot of the world we have yet to see and flowers left to sniff.

This is just one chapter. One chapter where it might look like not much is happening. But we’re going to hold this space and set the groundwork for something amazing that will come of this.

I might cry when I see you run again. Or when we can go back on a walk together. Or when I can chase you around the apartment like a crazy lady just to get you all riled up.

Heck, I’m crying now.

But rest up, pup. You’re gonna need it. We have so many adventures and good times ahead. Fall will pass. Winter will come. And when Spring is here, we’ll have a whole new world to explore together.

Be brave tomorrow. And I’ll try to be brave, too. 

But for tonight, I’m so lucky. And I’ll always be lucky to have you as my partner in this crazy life. You make it all worth it. 

I love you so much.