Six months passed. Daisy was still alive. Growing stronger. The cancer was still there, we knew that. But she was living. Playing. Being loved.
My brother died month seven. I was wrecked. Hadn’t visited Tom and Madison in two weeks. When I finally went back, Madison was sitting on the porch with Daisy, both wearing matching bandanas.
“Sorry, kiddo. My brother went to heaven.”
Madison nodded solemnly. “Like Mommy. Is he a real angel now? Not a motorcycle angel but a heaven angel?”
“I guess so.”
“Good. Mommy needs friends. Do you want to see what Daisy learned?”
She’d taught Daisy to “pray” – paws together, head down. It was ridiculous and beautiful and I laughed for the first time since the funeral.
Tom came out. “Heard about your brother. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”Continue reading…
