Seventeen Years, My Champion
A few months ago, I wrote what follows because I thought you wouldn’t make it to your 17th birthday. But today, despite the difficult day you’ve had — that we’ve both had — we’re celebrating your life, because you did it. One more year, like a true champion. Always our champion. 🤍
My dear old boy,
I want to write to you now, while you’re still here,
with us, with your gentle gaze,
even though your almost 17 years weigh on every step
and your body grows more fragile each day.
For some time now, osteoarthritis — or whatever it is that troubles you —
has tried to stop you… but it hasn’t.
With your treatment, with our company,
you’ve carried on like a silent warrior,
like that gentle guardian who always kept everything in order,
in your own way, with patience, with a wise old soul.
But for a year now, something has changed.
Your fainting spells, fleeting as shadows,
leave us frozen, our hearts suspended.
The tests say everything is fine,
but they whisper what we don’t want to hear:
that it’s age… and that any day now…
And I don’t want that day.
Not yet.
Not so soon,
because we still haven’t healed from your brother Baily’s goodbye,
who left us less than five months ago.
I still don’t know how to live with that absence,
and already I fear yours.
Thank you, my old boy,
for all these years
of pure love and loyalty.
For making us laugh with those short little legs
that sometimes couldn’t quite make the jump,
for playing with your older sister
even when she was so grumpy,
for welcoming every new member so gently,
as if you were a father—or a mother—to them all.
Because you, with your immense kindness,
became the heart of this small family.
Now I see you, there on the terrace,
searching for that little ray of peace,
that moment of warm breeze.
I can’t leave you out long in the heat,
but you wanted to go.
And who could deny you that joy?
One more minute… just one more…
Sometimes your gaze drifts away,
traveling to places I cannot follow.
But you still eat, you still come for cuddles,
and that gives us hope,
even as pain quietly lingers,
knowing you’re slowly fading…
And when you come, heavy and insistent,
seeking our attention with little cries and paws,
we tease you, calling you a nuisance.
But I’ll even miss that.
Because there are so, so many memories,
enough to fill endless pages
with the moments we’ve shared.
And I can’t.
My heart won’t let me.
The tears fall down my cheeks,
and I can barely breathe.
When you’re gone,
no one will dry my tears with soft little caresses.
No one will know, like you do,
when I cry, even over a movie.
No one will come to comfort me
with that unconditional love that only you have.
And you drift away…
slowly, quietly…
but taking a piece of me with you.
Dedicated to you, my faithful companion,
my silent comfort, my wise, sweet boy.
Thank you for every day, for every moment.
When the time comes to let you go,
my heart will go with you.
Always. 🤍
© María F. Rivera — All rights reserved
