A few days after returning from my Brazilian weeks, I met the football gang again. Warming up from the cold in the locker room, a Sicilian friend asked about my family and time there. After I shared my stories, he spoke words that would echo days later: “I’m glad everyone is well. Cherish that. Life changes.” Days later, a stroke-like syndrome shifted our Life in an instant.
Mangarosa, my dog, was fourteen but carried her age with grace. She burst with life, despite the condition that had weakened her back legs. My wife and I built our world around her joy. She has lived in different places, but our three daily walks were a constant in my life. She has stood by my wife and me since the beginning of our story. She crossed the Atlantic and helped me to write many chapters of my journey. Everyone loved her. No one more than I did.
We fought hard for a period. We tried every therapy and took care of her as people do with their aging folks. But she wouldn’t eat, couldn’t walk, and even to stand without my traction became impossible. Finally, we had to face our final act of love: letting her go.
As we pass the second week without her, I can think more clearly, but the new routine is hurtful. Once we lose a friend, grief seems to walk beside us for a long time. Yet I find peace knowing we gave each other our best until the end.
Rest well, dear friend. May you run forever in endless fields until we meet again.
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