Two children.
And a large red heart.
One day she brought me a drawing.
"This is Frankie."
She pointed.
"And this is you."
She pointed again.
"And that's Daddy."
Then she pointed to the heart.
"That's where Frankie lives."
I smiled.
"Where?"
"In our family."
I hugged her.
"Yes."
She looked at me seriously.
"Even when he's gone?"
My heart stopped.
I nodded.
"Even then."
She thought for a moment.
"Then he doesn't really leave."
I couldn't answer.
I simply held her.
The Truth About Goodbyes
We eventually had to confront the reality that Frankie wouldn't be with us forever.
That was the hardest truth.
But we had learned something important.
Loving someone doesn't mean pretending they will never leave.
It means making the time you have matter.
So we stopped worrying about the future every day.
Instead, we focused on today.
Today's walk.
Today's meal.
Today's sunshine.
Today's nap.
Today's tail wag.
Today's kiss on the head.
Today's laugh.
We had sixteen years behind us.
But we still had today.
And today was enough.
One Ordinary Afternoon
Months later, I came home from the grocery store.
I opened the front door.
For a moment, I stood still.
The house was quiet.
Then I heard it.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Frankie's tail.
I smiled.
He was lying on his rug.
He couldn't stand quickly anymore.
But he was waiting for me.
I walked over.
He lifted his head.
I knelt.
"Hi, old man."
He leaned against me.
And suddenly I remembered the afternoon when I had opened that same door and heard nothing.
I remembered the empty bed.
The open gate.
The fear.
The folder.
The GPS records.
The road.
The possibility of losing him.
Then I looked at him.
He was still here.
That was enough.