Tuesday, December 9, 2025

 Dear Darlin,

I hope you are having a good day where you are. I say "I hope" although I am fairly certain that you are having a good day Where You Are. After all, Where You Are there are plenty of people who need you to show them exactly where they should be and where they should sit. I always loved being nudged by your nose, and I always tried to be as obedient as I could be, given the situation. If everyone is where they should be and all is calm, then perhaps you have found some rays of sunshine to lie in so that your solar powered batteries could be recharged. You always loved the warmth of the sun.

I don't know why I didn't think of writing you sooner. Perhaps I won't sure I could hold myself together long enough to write an entire letter. And then there was the question of how to get it to you. How could it have taken two years before I realized that you would be able to read a letter from me if I simply put my thoughts together in words. When you were with us, you always seemed to know what I was thinking, as if you could read my thoughts as I thought them. Just because you are No Longer Here with me in a bodily form, why would things be any different now? You are just as alive today as all of my dear departed loved ones. I feel your presence just as I feel yours. 

Only, I haven't written any of my dear departed ones before. This letter to you is the first. Why is that? Perhaps you are more present than the others. I've heard other grandparents talk about their grandchildren in such ways. I've heard them say that their grandchildren are in their thoughts even more when they are absent than when they are present. I understand that. When we were together taking a walk or playing with one of your toys, I didn't think much about you not being there. But now that you are Not Here, I think about you all the time. All the time.

Yesterday was a bad day. You left us two years ago yesterday. Not much has changed, at least with me. I miss you just as much today as I did two years ago today. I still grieve privately, alone. Everybody know, probably, most of all G Mommy. I can't hide much from here. 

I can still picture your Mommy Megan and Daddy Deven along with your G Mommy and me gathered around you saying goodbye, while at the same time refusing to believe that we were saying goodbye, like we mortals have the power to change these things. Part of grief is feeling powerless to make things better, or to heal your cancer, or to make time go backward. Grief is having to accept the unacceptable, and there is nothing good about that. 

I should stop for now, because someone there Where You Are is probably getting up out of his or her chair without your permission, and you've got work to do. You're a Good Dog. I miss you, and I will write often. Feel free to show up in my dreams tonight.

Love,

G Daddy