Pet lover.

If the lake wasn't icy, you'd swim in it, as vigorously as Butters did.
This particular day you were trying to tell Butters how to manage the reeds around the dock. She jumped in and couldn't get herself out. You bent down, grabbed her and pulled her up.

You challenged Butters to run, swim, never give up.

You had quite a challenge getting Newkie and Butters to share space. You took great care of them, making sure they saw the vet regularly, and feeding them appropriately. They were lucky pets.

Dear Brian

June 2, 2012.
Dear Brian,
I have to agree with all religious people: believing in an after life is most comforting!
I wish that it were numbing the pain too. Even with that belief,  dealing with loss is the toughest thing I have ever experienced.

All I think about is that I will never see you again.

At your memorial, I chose the poem with the refrain, "let me go" to be printed and distributed. I had nothing else. No, I don't want to let you go. I want to talk about you to anyone who will listen. The trouble is that if I start talking, I can't stop.

I bleed.

Nothing I can do will bring you back.
Nothing anyone can do.

Your passing is a tsunami of uncontrolled destruction.
I feel waves and waves of debris floating ashore, when I least expect.

I'm remembering last July 4th weekend, the last time I saw you: Mom, can we have the wedding here at the Lake? Can we have the seed of the Siberian poppies you're growing? Can we take a cutting of the Cecil B. rose?  I will convert the garage, and add a sunroom with a lap pool, so..."

You were young, full of hope, with a generous heart.

I cannot let you go.

Mom