Love Letter to Fifi

My Dearest Fifi,

How do I begin to thank a little dog who has carried so much of my life in her small, faithful body?

You are almost seventeen now. Seventeen. You have been with me for more than a quarter of my life, which seems impossible and yet exactly right. I can barely remember the shape of my days before you padded into them and claimed your spot beside me. You have been my companion, my sidekick, my couch mate, my dinner date, my walking friend, my travel partner, my tiny shadow, and my most loyal witness.

We have aged together, you and I.

Your little legs are so arthritic now that you practically walk on your elbows, but still you go. You wobble forward with the dignity of a queen and the determination of a creature who has never accepted that the body gets a vote. You have one tooth left, which has not diminished your opinion of steak or fried chicken. Of course, both must be cut into tiny pieces now, because even royalty must make accommodations.

You love the food I love. You like to nap as much as I do. You get tired easily. So do I. You get bored being inside too long. So do I. You still want to get out and see what the world has to offer: a new restaurant, a warm spot by the pool, a gentle swim while I hold you, a trip to the beach where the air smells like salt and sun and memory.

You may be old, but you are not done with joy.

I take you almost everywhere because leaving you behind feels like forgetting one of my own limbs. Somewhere along the way, you became an extension of me. I know your sounds, your sighs, your small complaints, your stubborn preferences. I know when you need water before you know it yourself. I remind you to eat when your little appetite wanders off. I watch you sleep and feel the strange gratitude of loving someone so completely that even their breathing becomes important.

You have been with me through chapters I could not have survived as gracefully without you. You have seen me tired, scared, sick, laughing, angry, hopeful, defeated, resurrected, and ridiculous. You have sat beside me through the quiet devastations and the ordinary afternoons. You have asked for nothing but food, warmth, company, and the right to be near me.

What a holy little bargain that has been.

You have loved me without critique. You have never cared whether I was successful or failing, polished or falling apart, thin or not, cheerful or impossible. You did not need me to perform. You only needed me to be there. And in return, you gave me the purest form of presence I have ever known.

That is the miracle of dogs. They do not fix our lives. They do not explain suffering. They do not offer theology, strategy, or unsolicited advice. They simply stay. They curl beside us in the rubble. They follow us from room to room as if our existence is their favorite destination. They make the loneliness less sharp. They turn a house into a home. They remind us that love does not always arrive with words. Sometimes it arrives with four paws, cloudy eyes, bad breath, one remaining tooth, and a heart too large for such a small chest.

You are my four-legged soul mate, Fifi. I believe God gave you to me when I needed you most. He knew I would require a companion who could absorb my secrets, tolerate my moods, share my meals, and make me laugh when life had otherwise misplaced its sense of humor.

There is a good reason dog is God spelled backwards.

You have been one of the great blessings of my life. Not a small blessing. Not a cute accessory. Not “just a dog.” You have been family. You have been comfort. You have been continuity. You have been proof that love can be soft, furry, demanding, inconvenient, hilarious, and sacred all at once.

I know we are in the tender part now. The part where every day feels like a gift I am afraid to unwrap too quickly. The part where I notice everything: the way you sleep deeper, the way you move slower, the way I carry you more, the way your little body asks for mercy. I know time is doing what time does, and I hate it for that.

But for today, you are here.

Today, I can cut your steak into tiny pieces. I can hold you in the pool. I can take you with me. I can remind you to drink. I can tuck you beside me on the couch. I can look into your sweet old face and tell you what I hope you have always known:

You have been loved completely.

And I have been loved by you.

That has been one of the finest things God ever gave me.

With all my heart,

Mom