Diamonds are Truly a Girl's Best Friend

          When you look into a person’s eyes, you can see the universe. You can see their heart. It’s a sneak peek into their soul. There’s a give-and-take when people have a mutual love for one another. Whether it’s a romantic love or the love between a parent and child, there’s a constant exchange and flow of energy. Most of us spend our lives searching for such a love. We crave devotion. We are in search of something unconditional. We yearn for no restrictions or expectations from our loved ones. We hope to find a love that is selfless. A love which fulfills us. There are voids in everyone’s hearts, and sometimes, you just want to fill those voids. But wanting to fulfill yourself is selfish. Wanting to fulfill others is selfless. That’s a difficult lesson to learn, is it not? Some of us may never truly learn it. Some of us learn it the hard way. Others are just born with a selfless nature bringing light into the world. And then there are the select few who learn this precious life lesson through another living being.

A dog.

When you look into a dog’s eyes, there’s a selflessness which only a dog can emit. Their eyes light up like the sun every time you walk in through the door. You could’ve had the worst day of your life. You may be in a nasty pessimistic mood. A dog will always greet you like you’re a god or goddess because you are in their eyes. They worship you. They are devoted to you no matter what you do or who you are as a person. You can leave a dog alone in a cage for 12 hours, and they’ll still celebrate you coming home. They’ll celebrate you always. They’re loyal. It’s in their DNA to be this loyal. And above all, their love is unconditional. They don’t ask for anything. No demands. No expectations. As long as you’re by their side, they’ll go to the ends of the Earth with and for you. And that, my friend, is selfless love.

                A dog. So simple. So naïve. So wild and free. So much love to give.

                To be honest, I didn’t set out to become a dog mom, but the dog mom life sort of just chose me. I know how ridiculous, right? But it’s true. It’s my truth. And all I can give is my truth.

                It was the beginning of 2007. I remember it being cold back then. Back when Georgia still had real winters. I had just started college at the ripe old age of 18. I considered myself such an adult. I laugh at the thought now. My life was stable and steady. I had an older boyfriend. By older, I mean he was five years older than me. But back then, you would’ve considered that a relatively huge age gap. He had a career, a house, and a puppy. I, on the other hand, was working part-time, going to school full-time, and had been recently discouraged in my pursuit of an acting career. (That’s a story for another time though.) Newsflash: You don’t become an adult miraculously overnight just because you turn 18. So yeah, I was still a child. Anyhow, about six months into our relationship, we had already started thinking it would be a good idea to give the puppy a playmate.

You know that Thought Bubble? The one that supposedly exists in the abstract. Everything and anything you think out loud goes to that bubble. Theory is you can speak things into existence. But the Thought Bubble is where all these thoughts go to once you speak them into the universe. Anyone has access to these thoughts. If you don’t act on them, they’re floating around and someone else may steal your ideas. Has that ever happened to you? It’s definitely happened to me! Have you had an idea for something and you contemplate on it for too long and then suddenly someone else takes your very same idea? You’re just like how did that happen? How did they come up with the same exact thing I was thinking? Yeah, that’s the Thought Bubble. (Assuming that you believe everything in life is energy. And we are all energy. And our thoughts are all energy.) So, there we were putting the idea of getting a second dog into the universe. And as luck would have it, the universe answered our thoughts whether we were ready for the commitment or not. 

I still remember the first time I saw you, my Diamond girl. We pulled up to an older-looking house in a typical Gwinnett County neighborhood. The grass was a dead yellow color cracking underneath our shoes. It was wintertime. The days seem so gray during this time of year. You were a small, white ball of fur. 12 weeks old and 19 pounds. I watched as you aimlessly roamed the front yard of the house. You were so aloof to the world around you, yet so enthralled with what was under your nose. I observed you sniff the grass searching for who knows what. You were so tiny and bright. I knew you were wild at heart from the start.

The promise of spring flowers was right around the corner. Maybe that’s what you were so keenly sniffing, my Diamond girl. The promise of spring flowers to the most beautiful winter girl.

Your mother had a litter, and the family wanted to get rid of the puppies. I remember your mom being so tall, long, and lean. I wondered if that’s how you were going to look when you grew up. At the time, I knew very little about dogs. Honestly, I knew very little about life. I was only 18, after all. So, when I saw your mom shedding her winter coat, I thought she had fallen ill with a disease. I had never seen a dog shed before nor did I know they shed. I was panicking on the inside wondering what was wrong with her. Later on, I found out about the whole shedding thing.

The decision was made though. You were coming home with us. I’ll spare you the lame decision-making details. I was in class at GSU the day they brought you home. But, I remember the story I was told of how you and Junior met. (Junior was the other dog. He was half Rottweiler and half Border Collie. A fearlessly loyal creature and sweeter than honey.) They carried you into the house. You were a little baby back then. So afraid of the unknown. Your soon-to-be daring personality hadn’t kicked in yet. Humans are the same way, you know. Our personalities shift all the time. For instance, I was a meek, timid only child for most of my life. You would never think that if you knew me now. Humans evolve and so do dogs.

They told me they put you down on the ground next to Junior. His eyes met yours, and y’all shared a moment. Then he let out a huge yelp. He shrieked at the top of his lungs widening his big, brown eyes and ran off behind some furniture. Your reaction was calm and strategic. You glanced up at the humans wondering what had just happened. You were so defiant and confident. You pranced over to Junior and nuzzled him. Almost as if you were saying, “You can’t escape me, sir! I’m here to stay!” I laughed so hard when I was told this story. I wish I could’ve been there that day. That encounter would’ve been hilarious to witness.

The next five years are a distant, fond memory. There were some funny moments and not-so-funny ones too. Somewhere in there we got Zara. The house of two doggies became three. I watched all three of you grow. It’s crazy how humanlike animals can be. You lost your milk teeth and learned to manipulate me into giving you endless treats. You had your moody days and sweet days. Oh my goodness, you were strong! There was no way I could ever walk you alone. Even with the harness. You used to pull so much. Huskies are so strong! Oh, and you used to love digging holes. Literally, our background had more holes than a road in downtown. I remember you ran away twice. Once because you dug a hole underneath the 7-ft wooden fence. Another time because a huge storm had come through the area and the fence split in half from the rain and wind. Also, I remember one of the neighbors found you and held you for ransom. (This is a true story. This really happened. I couldn’t make this story up even if I wanted to. We obviously paid the ransom. Their house went into foreclosure shortly after. Karma, perhaps?)

All great love stories come to an end, right? Of course, mine was no exception. After six years and three dogs later, it was time to move on. I think one of the most difficult part was having to split up the dogs. My Diamond girl went to my ex-boyfriend’s parents. I knew that was the perfect place for her. They had a huge lot of land in rural North Carolina. I knew Diamond would thrive there with the other dogs they had and with plenty of space to roam around. Above all, I knew his parents, particularly his dad, would give her the love and devotion she needed. And that’s exactly what she got, and I’m so grateful for that.

The last memory I had of her from 2012 was tattooed in my mind. I remember saying goodbye to her and Junior. We were in the upstairs bedroom and I got down on the floor with them. We hugged, and I cried so much. It was difficult to say goodbye to both of them. I had spent the latter part of my teenage years and early twenties with those furbabies. They were my furbabies. I raised them. The sweetest I could have ever known. I recall closing the door, but before I did, I took one last glance at both of them. They stared up at me. They had no idea they wouldn’t see my face again. They were saying, “See you later, Mom.”

Later wouldn’t come because I knew in my heart I would never see Junior again. And I never did. But, I always hoped I would run into Diamond somehow. Somewhere. Someday.

Life went on for the next seven years. I often thought about my Diamond girl. I wondered if she was still alive. Was she happy? Was she living her best doggie life? I wanted to reach out many times but knew it wasn’t my place anymore.

Remember that Thought Bubble? Yeah, this is one of those instances where the Thought Bubble and the universe worked their magic three-quarters of a decade later.

One night in February of this year, it was about 1 AM. Maybe a little later. I don’t fully remember. My ex-boyfriend reached out to me. Sadly, his father had passed away. His mom couldn’t care for Diamond anymore.

“She’s 12 now,” he stated. Wow. 12 years old. That’s a long life for a husky. He abruptly asked me if I wanted her back. I was shook.

There was a whirlwind of emotions. Of course, I wanted to see her! But could I really take care of her? Did I have the time for her? The dedicated time she would need. And then, there was Zara. Would they remember each other? I mean it had been seven years. Would my mom want a big dog in the house? Did we really have room for her? The pressing questions left me sleepless that night.

As you can already imagine, I ended up taking Diamond in. I rescued her from an evitable early death at a shelter. I loved her so much in the short amount of time we had. I loved her with everything I had to give.

I spent the next month anticipating her arrival. I was worried I would fail her. I was worried I had gotten in way over my head. I changed my whole entire life for Diamond. Any time you care for another living being, your life changes. Your priorities change. Your freedom becomes restricted because it’s not about you anymore. It’s about the living, breathing being of which you’re taking care.

Literally, the day after I came back from Ireland I was super jetlagged and still found the strength to drive up to North Carolina to pick up my Diamond girl. I remember it was a gloomy Saturday morning. I was so anxious to see you. My adrenaline kicked into overdrive once I got off the exit somewhere near the South Carolina and North Carolina border. The gas station I was picking you up at was right off the exit. As soon as I turned into the parking lot, I spotted you in the distance. You were being walked. Your tail was low, not like how you used to always keep it up high. You walked slower than I remember. You were grayer than I remember. I could tell you had aged.

I parked the car and watched you approach my side of the door. Zara jumped into my lap the minute I put the car on park. She’s crazy like that. She’s like you’re not leaving me in the car, human! I’m coming with you. Final answer.

Seven years. Seven years. That’s a second grader. Wow!

I opened my door. Zara was in my arms, and I stepped one leg out. And then the other. And then everything became real. You were real. This moment right here was real. And suddenly, you looked up at me. Curious like a dog would be. You put your little nose near my arm, but it wasn’t me you were interested in sniffing. You wanted to greet Zara. I put her down on the ground. She freaked out, of course. Gave me the “how dare you put me down on the wet ground” face. Diamond sniffed her like crazy. Zara just sort of stayed still. I think she was curious too. They remembered each other’s scents. Then, Diamond sniffed my butt. She took a huge whiff of it. And that was our reencounter. Diamond didn’t protest. She voluntarily got in the back seat and made herself at home. We drove home in the rain. We drove towards her new forever home.

I could continue breaking down the next four months of our lives, but I won’t. I’ll summarize some things for you though. Taking care of Diamond was completely different from Zara. My Diamond girl was an aging girl. She showed clear signs of an aging dog. I could tell her hearing was going. She used to fall into these deep sleeps and no noise would wake her. Sometimes, I think her sense of smell wasn’t as strong anymore either. Her taste buds were definitely way off. She was an extremely picky eater. Her once bright, caramel eyes were now sunken. They were sad. I know she was in mourning for the loss of the dad. He was her person. He was her human. I knew it. I felt it. I felt her loss. And that was tough.

It was difficult to create a bond with her, at first. More like recreate a bond with her. I found ways to do it though. We used to go on long walks every day. It was a way to solidify our bond. To have her loyalty and obedience. I set boundaries inside the house for her. Retaught her some basic commands. I used to brush her fur a couple of times a week. She loved the bristles trailing her body. We would sit outside in the back patio sunbathing together. Enjoying the warmth of the day. Then, I would massage her spine and tickle her belly. I’d place my head on her chest and we’d lie together on the rug in the living room. I would always put her in bed at night and hold her paw while rubbing her pointy ears. I loved running my fingers along the ridges of her ears. They were the softest part of her body. I think she secretly liked when I played with her ears too.

“Goodnight,” I would warmly whisper, “You’re my best friend. I love you. Night, night, little Diamond.”

I wish I could tell you Diamond was aging with no health issues. It was difficult to pinpoint, but I knew something was wrong. I felt it in my gut. She was highly anxious most of the time. Anxiety is normal in an aging dog. But it wasn’t just that. She would constantly lose her appetite. Treats she used to love before just one day she didn’t like them anymore. Her sleeps were getting deeper. And I knew something was off. Perhaps the most alarming thing was she kept having diarrhea on-and-off. She would be fine one day and the next three days were stressful because she was so sick.

Maybe it was me? Maybe I’m just not a good dog owner? It was my first time taking care of a senior dog. Diamond was definitely a senior dog. She had all of the symptoms and peculiarities of senior dogs. There’s one thing my Diamond girl was that I loved though. She was the sweetest girl I ever knew. Always coming to my side and leaning against me. Always searching for her head rub. Always greeting me by the door. Always giving me sweet, tender kisses. She was a sweetheart. She was my sweetheart. If you ever met her, you knew it. She was just a sweet old lady.

I took Diamond to the vet when I first got her back. She passed her physical. Just a little bit of arthritis in her two hind legs. But that’s normal for a dog her age and size. At the time, I didn’t do blood work because I had just gotten her back and that first week she didn’t eat, so I changed her food. The vet suggested her blood levels would be off due to all the changes in her life, and we should wait a couple of months until she’s adjusted to her new home.

During that time period was when Diamond was experiencing all the above. I finally took her again to the vet two weeks ago. Her check-up was due. I got everything done for her. I wanted my girl to be healthy. My sweet, sweet girl. The vet did an in-house blood work. We got the results back right away. Diamond was anemic. Her red blood cell count was very low. But that wasn’t the only thing wrong with her.

Diamond’s liver levels were not ideal.

A dog’s liver levels should be at 120. Diamond’s were at 1000. She was anemic because her liver was eating up her red blood cells. But now the question was why? Why was her liver consuming so much blood? The vet suggested I go to a specialist. She said they could do an x-ray in-house and we’d know if it was an enlarged liver or a mass growing on the liver. So I obviously did the x-ray.

Diamond’s pink leash was tight around my left hand. It’s my dominant hand. I always held her to my left. My eyes stared at the x-ray results. The vet spoke inaudible words to me. I mean I heard her but not really. I didn’t really want to hear what she had to say. The mass was huge. It covered her entire stomach. The loss of appetite and the diarrhea. It was all because the mass on the liver was pushing against her intestines and stomach. I could see it on the x-ray. The white cloud crushing her insides.

The vet confirmed the mass had been there for quite some time. Steadily growing. Going undetected. But it was there all along. There was no surgery to remove the mass. It was too big. Too risky. There was no way to rid her of it. No need for a specialist. Only an, “So sorry, honey.”

Then, the words you wish you never had to speak into existence came out of my mouth, “How long?” I asked the vet forcing back the crack in my voice.

How much longer did my little girl have?

I stood there frozen. Staring down at my Diamond girl. She sat like a little Sphinx. She used to love sitting like that. She was unaware of the ticking time bomb inside her body.

“Two to three months.” The vet didn’t hesitate. It was a very matter-of-fact statement.   

Two to three months. After everything. That’s all I had left with you, my Diamond girl.

“Unless,” the vet continued, “The mass ruptures before then.”

I sucked in my breath steadying my chest. The next question I asked was very measured. I wanted to know. I needed to know in order to protect my little Diamond.

“How will I know if it’s ruptured?” The vet explained it to me. And she said you’ll know because this, this, and this will happen. Well, on July 4, 2019, exactly one week after I took Diamond to the vet, her mass ruptured. And everything the vet said would happen is exactly what happened.

The morning of Fourth of July I woke up around 8am. The usual time I’d take Diamond out. I always knew when she was awake and ready to be taken out in the morning because she would shake and stretch and the tags on her collar would jingle. There she was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs as usual. She would always brush herself up against me and I’d pet the top of her head. Her smile was so loving and sweet.

I went back to bed after taking her out. Eventually, I fell into another deep sleep for a couple more hours. I remember I had the weirdest dream. I dreamt someone was trying to hurt Diamond. I was carrying her in my arms like a small child. I was pleading with the gruesome-looking man to not hurt her. He had us cornered in my dream. Well, it was more like a nightmare than a dream. That’s all I really remember to be honest. The details are fuzzy now. And then I heard my mom’s voice in my dream. Well really more like her yells. And then I woke up around 10:30am to my mom yelling for help.

“Xavilaine, Diamond isn’t feeling too well!”

“Xavilaine, something is wrong with Diamond!”

My mom was screaming for me to come down. I jumped out of my bed so fast I didn’t even give it a second thought. I bolted down the stairs. My mind was blank. My heart was racing. My adrenaline throbbed in my ears.  

Diamond was collapsed on the floor by the kitchen.

My sweet, sweet girl was collapsed on the floor unable to move her limbs. I approached her with caution. Diamond was still awake and alert. She was a determined girl even towards the end. Diamond lifted her body and got back on her feet. Her whole body was shaking. It literally looked like she was wearing skates on her paws. I’ll never erase that moment from my mind. The moment Diamond got herself up and then took a shaky step collapsing once more onto the floor.

Frustrated, Diamond crawled herself to the rug in the living room. No joke crawled herself. She used her two front elbows and dragged her body. I had never seen anything like that before. She laid on the rug. She couldn’t move. I could tell she was getting tired. That final effort had exhausted her. She kept going in and out of sleep. Diamond’s caramel eyes had a dimming twinkle.  

“Maybe this is her first episode,” my mom’s voice had a hint of hope.

But I knew the hard truth.

I knew in my heart of hearts that this was it. I knew it because I heard the vet that day a week prior. I knew because I saw it in Diamond’s eyes. She was ready. She was ready to be reunited with the dad and her Junebug. (That’s what we used to call Junior.)

I brought Zara close to her face. They sniffed each other one last time. I’m not sure if that was a proper goodbye, but it was the only goodbye they got. Zara knew something was going on. She frantically looked around at all the commotion. She’s extremely bonded to me, so I’m sure she felt my anguish. Diamond, on the other hand, didn’t budge. She only stared off into space. Who knows, maybe she was already envisioning her doggie heaven?

My mom and I had an issue though. How were we going to get Diamond into the car? We didn’t want to hurt her. She didn’t seem like she was in any pain. Diamond wasn’t moaning or crying. She just laid there on her side almost as if waiting for the inevitable.

We ended up putting a bed sheet underneath her and that’s how we were able to lift her body and walk our way from inside the house to get her into the car. She was wrapped like a little burrito. I’ve only ever seen people move bodies like this in a hospital. That was definitely a process. Funny enough, a hospital is exactly where we were headed. We rushed Diamond to the emergency room. This was the last car ride she would ever have.

The emergency hospital knew we were coming. I had already called them and explained the situation. I drove all the way from Lawrenceville to downtown Decatur. My Diamond girl deserved the best treatment, and I knew they were her best option. The things we do for the people and creatures we love, right?

When we arrived at the hospital, the vet techs rushed outside to my car with a cart to place Diamond on top of it and safely push her inside the emergency area. My mom and I waited in a quaint room to the right of the hallway. We looked at the time. It was past noon on Fourth of July. A day which was supposed to be celebratory. I remained calm. I had to because my mom wasn’t. I am the strong one. The cool, calm, and collected one. A lot rides on my shoulders and a lot is expected out of you when you’re an only child to a single mother. But I guess that’s just life.

The vet tech came into the room. She told us they were running tests on Diamond. The doctor would be in soon. We just had to patiently wait. That’s easier said than done. But we waited anyway.

When the doctor entered the room, her face said she everything I needed to hear. She greeted us with a warmth you usually only feel from whom is about to deliver bad news. She sat in the armchair in front of us. She put it very simply, “Diamond’s mass ruptured. She has internal bleeding. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to be done. She is dying.”

The room spiraled out of focus for me. Her words cut like a dagger through my gut. I clenched my teeth tightening my grip around the tears forming in the back of my throat. I had to get the words out without choking.

“How do you know?” I mean how did she really know? Did she have x-ray vision or something? What if it was just an episode? Maybe Diamond would try to get up again. She did before to no avail.

“Because I did an ultrasound on her.”

There was no other confirmation needed. My Diamond girl was dying. We had a split second to prepare for what came next. The vet started talking about the paperwork for the euthanasia. We went ahead got it all out of the way.

“I want to be the room,” I demanded. “I want her to be sedated first. I don’t want her to feel any pain.” The doctor nodded her head. She gave me a small smile. I could feel her words: I really am sorry.

My mom and I sat in silence again. Waiting. Waiting for death to knock on the door.

After several more minutes, the vet techs knocked, opened the door, and brought Diamond into the room. They placed her on top of a blanket on the floor. Diamond was rolled in the bedsheet again. The same one with which we had brought her in. The vet techs left us. The time had come to say our final goodbyes.

My mom and I laid on the floor next to her. We cuddled Diamond showering her with love. I played with her ears one last time. I rubbed her belly too. That’s when I felt the sticky gel on the side of her belly. It was proof that the vet had in fact done an ultrasound on my Diamond girl. This was something concrete no longer in the abstract and that’s when I felt it. The weight of this moment. It weighed down on me like a block of cement trapping me against a wall corner. My dream. In that moment, I remembered that awful nightmare. It was coming true in a way.

Diamond’s head was laid upon the blanket, but she was still awake. She observed the room. Her breathing was steady but different. I laid my head on her belly. The way we used to lie in the living room together. I caressed her body. I struggled to hold on for just a little bit longer. I said all the words I wanted to say to her. I spoke them into existence. Out loud for ALL the Thought Bubble to hear.

“I love you, my Diamond girl.”

“You’re my best friend.”

“Having you around was one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“You’re the sweetest girl I ever knew.”

“You’re the love of my life and so very special.”

But one of the last things I whispered to her was, “Lenny is waiting for you, Diamond. Lenny is waiting for you with his arms wide open. He’s with Junior and the other dogs. They’re all waiting for you to be reunited at last. Aren’t you excited? You’re going to see Lenny again. He loved you so much, Diamond. He took care of you for such a long time. And now he’s waiting for you.” (Lenny was the dad.)

                I found finally the courage to get up on my feet, walk over to the door, and press the red button. This was the signal to let the vet know we were ready for her to come back in. The door cracked open a couple of minutes later. The vet slowly came in by herself with the injections in her right hand.

                The doctor got on her knees and leaned forward towards us. She explained what the procedure would be like. They had already prepared her font leg with an IV. I got up and sat by Diamond’s head. I stroked her ears and combed my fingers through her face. She seemed to like that. Her eyebrows moved up and down in a curious way. And then, I held her paw like I always would when I used to put her to bed.

                The doctor injected the sedative into the IV first. I watched as the needle went in. Every second is branded into my memory. My mom was on Diamond’s side stroking her back. Crying. Devastated. I remained calm though. Stoic, really. My emotions remained hidden within. Then, the doctor made the announcement she was about to inject the “pink stuff.”

Diamond’s eyes gradually became very heavy. Her breathing slowed, and she willingly started to close her caramel, almond-shaped eyes. The most beautiful caramel eyes into which I ever looked.

I was the last face Diamond saw before she closed her eyes forever.

The vet checked Diamond’s vitals, “She’s passed.” The clock read 12:55pm.

When the doctor left the room, Diamond’s paw was still in my hand.

Diamond was the first dog I ever had to put down. God knows it was not easy. The decision wasn’t easy. The situation wasn’t easy. But, you know what was easy?

Loving my little baby Diamond. Loving her with everything I had and then some.

I’ll always remember the moment I took my last glance at Diamond. The moment before I walked out the hospital door. I’ll keep that moment for myself though. The memory is for me and me only. I will tell you I eventually let everything out. I cried for five days straight. I cried myself to sleep at night. I cried in the restroom at work. I cried while driving. I cried while writing this. I cried such a hard and ugly cry it was one of those where you scream into your pillow and curse the world. I cried for Diamond and my grandma, who I had just witnessed take her last breath three weeks prior to Diamond’s passing. I released a combination of emotions. It was a lot. Like a lot, a lot. I wondered if my red, swollen eyes would ever go back to looking normal again. (Honestly, I’m not a crier. I’m not one of those people who cries very often. So for me to cry like this was…truly something else.)

I loved you so much, my little girl. My sweet old lady. I’m sorry I didn’t have the backyard you deserved or all the time to just be at home with you during those final four months. I’m sorry I didn’t know about your mass sooner. I’m sorry I had to give you up seven years ago only to be reunited for a short amount of time and then having to watch you go. I’m so sorry, my Diamond girl. I hope you can forgive me. I do find solace in knowing in my heart that you are in doggie heaven with your person, Lenny, and Junior and the other dogs from your earlier years of life.  

Diamond, you’re probably all healed running around an evergreen pasture with a glistening waterfall. You’re probably chasing cats and squirrels too. You’re sniffing the green, green grass with your tail held high and your ears pointed towards the heavens.

Diamond, I miss you every day. I think about you all the time. It was difficult coming home to your empty bed. It’s been quite an adjustment not having you around anymore. Zara misses you too. I can tell by the way she always looks out into the living room from the top of the stairs. She’s searching for you.

Diamond, you taught me many things. I’m more disciplined now because of you. Even on my days off, I still find myself waking up at 7 or 8am. You also taught me patience. Lord knows it’s a constant battle for me. Patience is a virtue, after all. You taught me it’s okay to start over. A lesson I already knew but having you let me fully experience what it’s like to start from scratch and relearn things.

But most importantly, you taught me love. Unconditional love. Pure love. Selfless love. To love again and be loved again. And that’s a beautiful lesson.

I’ll always remember you, my Diamond girl. 50 years from now when I’m old and gray. I’ll remember the most beautiful winter girl prancing around the spring flowers with her tail held high sniffing butterflies and chasing cats.  

To my Diamond girl. My sweet, sweet girl. The sweetest girl I ever knew.

I love you.

Always.

Diamonds are truly a girl’s best friend.

Night, night, little Diamond.