By the way

Just 2 little moments I wanted to capture in snapshots of words....

---

We'd just finished a book about using your imagination, being a dreamer, the whole "you can do anything if you believe in yourself" kind of thing. It was already past her bedtime, but, in a move a bit unlike me, I took a moment to ask about her dreams. When she seemed puzzled by the question, I rephrased. "Have you ever thought about what you want to be when you grow up?"

She hesitated. "Well, there is one thing." Another pause. "I want to be an animal doctor."

"A veterinarian," I supplied the word for her. Then, "How come?"

If I'd never understood the idea of an expression flickering across someone's face, I would have fully grasped it then, as I watched her brow furrow and her lips purse for just a fraction of a second. It was almost as if her whole face was crumpling up to cry. And then, just like that, she collected herself, her face returning to its previous calm demeanor, and answered softly. "So I can take care of Sharla when she gets sick."

I knew an answer like that was coming; I'd read it in that look that shimmered across her face. "You still feel sad about Sasha and Ivan sometimes, huh?"

When she nodded, I tucked my arm around her. "Me too."

---

I was out on an errand tonight when Ari went through her bedtime routine; she'd been in bed at least half an hour when I got home. I slipped silently into her room to say good night.

She didn't stir as I entered, so I assumed she was asleep. But as soon as I placed a delicate kiss on her forehead, she startled awake, blurting a sharp "Huh?", the cry of one who doesn't know what woke them up.

"Shh, it's just me," I soothed.

And her tone melted in familiarity as she crooned "Mama," that single word so infused with affection that I nearly melted myself.

I stroked her hair aside to give her another kiss, whispering my good night and telling her to go back to sleep.

I'd just reached the door when she called out to me. "Mama? Can you tell Daddy that I love him?"

"Of course. Good night."

"Oh, and I love you too. By the way."

And then I stepped into our bedroom and taped to the wall above our bed (right in the middle and therefore obviously meant for both of us) was a sheet of notebook paper, with these words written in pen and highlighted in yellow (or perhaps vice versa):

Remember I'll always love you.

Your child, Ari

Three years

It happened right after I climbed into bed last night. Even though it was a few minutes after midnight (and therefore already September 16th), I lay there and it struck me... Today was September 15th. It's been 3 years.

And then, just as suddenly, I was awash in a strange mix of emotions... relief, guilt, lingering grief, a melancholy happiness. I still miss those 2 sweet puppies, but time has softened the pain into a gentle ache that only flares up every now and then.

What makes my forgetfulness even stranger is that we now drive by the very spot where they were hit twice a week, because the field where Ari plays and practices soccer is on that same road. (Aside from soccer, we rarely drive that direction.) And on Saturday, the 14th, the day they were both hit and the day Sasha died, we drove right past that spot on our way to Ari's third soccer game. Yet, for whatever reason, my brain didn't make the connection between the date and the place until almost two days later.

I don't worry that I will ever forget them completely. There are enough reminders surrounding me... a large frame filled with photos, a daughter who still voices her sorrow now and then, our new dog (who we joke is the reincarnation of both of them, an uncanny mix of Sasha's looks and Ivan's personality), the tattoo that I designed in tribute to them (forever inked on my right side). But it is a beautiful relief to know that I can think of them now without falling apart.

There was a time when these memories burned like the summer sun, relentless and unhindered in a cloudless sky, making everything miserable. But now, these memories glow like the sun in springtime, bright and alive, still intense at times, but accompanied by the occasional cloud and gentle breeze that keep the heat from becoming unbearable.