by John Wyer
Godiva. All she had was her life. Every day of her 8 1/2 years she shared it unconditionally. We had to take it from her on that June morning when the sky was blue and the birds singing. We had to take her only possession that day to stop the spread of the insidious cancer. We had no choice. In her nose into her brain. There was no hope. After we took it and it was gone, I held her to me and cried like there was no tomorrow. Taking her precious life took a huge part of mine, too. Her life was intertwined with mine in so many special ways. I leaned on her for love and strength and she gave me all I needed and more. Through my two bouts with cancer, the loss of my wife, and the loss of Tinkerbell she was there for me mentally holding my hand. "Daddy, it'll be ok, daddy. I'm here." Porkchop (her special name) was so very special. We enjoyed each other immensely. She was my shadow. Even today, over a year later, I cry for her to be here and for it all to be a horrible dream that we had to take her only little possession on that June morning.