Addendum:

I somehow forgot to include one--actually two--significant events when I wrote this that I had originally planned to mention. Since Memorial Day is the inspiration for this whole entry, it would be incomplete if I didn't correct that now.

Memorial Day is (supposed to be) a time to reflect on the sacrifice of those that have fought for our freedom. It is a celebration of their heroism. We honor the celebration part but sometimes (usually?) forget the rest of that sentence. Be that as it may, Toni and I did have reason to celebrate that weekend for reasons other than its stated purpose. Back in 2010, Frodo made his appearance on this planet sometime on the holiday weekend and when we adopted him from the rescue shelter some weeks later, our lives were never the same. He was the living embodiment of the concept of "freedom". His antics--despite having a very, very rough start--have given us hours of entertainment. He was an inspiration to the whole pack. 

This infectious joie de vivre lasted for four years to the day (-ish). It was on memorial day weekend in 2014 that Shiloh, the firstborn who started on our long path to dog loving, irreparably broke his leg. A week later my special boy would join his beloved brother Sully, who left us a mere 8 months earlier, four days before Toni's birthday. (October has its own list of things to remember...) Shiloh lived the longest (so far) of all of our boys and showed no signs of slowing down. He even made me go on a last walk with him, broken leg and all (really, it was his idea, not mine; we rarely went on actual "walks" since the yard is so huge). I was devastated. 

Looking back on it now, I wonder if he felt the same way I do now. Sully and Shiloh were inseparable; they'd been together since birth (actually before that if you count the time cramped up together in the womb). We always referred to them together. And they were complete opposites of each other. Just like Toni and me. Except for the womb part. As far as she and I were concerned, our lives began the day we found each other. We always referred to each other as a unit. "PeteAndToni" was one word. And we were complete opposites. I wonder how Shiloh dealt with his brother's death during those 8 months he was suddenly without his lifelong partner. What went through his dog-brain as he tried to make sense of his life, suddenly alone. Sure he had the rest of the sizable pack around as well as Toni and me, but it's not the same. Our boys have always shown a resilience in the face of sudden change and to his credit Shiloh didn't seem to be different. He was still Shiloh; he didn't know how to be any other way. He was just like I am now. I'm still me. But I'm alone. Sure I still have what's left of the pack and all of my family and all of my friends. But it's not the same. I'm still me because I don't know how else to be. But there's this big hole that I don't know how to fill. I feel like my name is now "PeteAnd?"

This entry was just supposed to be a paragraph at the end of the last one, but it got away from me (as my writings tend to do), so I decided to give it its own entry. It's hard to redefine yourself at my age, it seems. When I was young(er) going down a different path was the normal thing to do. Since you have no idea about the world, you try lots of new things to figure out what's best for you. I don't feel like I have time to do that anymore. If I'm wrong, what options do I still have time to try? In my younger days, the kind of mistakes I made took decades to work through. I hope that I'm smarter about my choices now and that won't be an issue. I want to think that the many years of living in the light that Toni shed on me have made the kind of impact on me that so many people, having spent much less time with her, have said she made on them. I mean I know she made an impact on me...duh. I mean I hope it is a lasting one. I hope that her leadership stays with me and guides me, the same way her love held me up all those years. I can still feel her love all around me. It's just that I can't see her when I tell her I love her back. I hope I get used to that. Right now, it just feels kinda strange.

Okay enough for now. Go back to your own lives. Don't miss out on a single thing. There is much to do out there for you. Go and do them. Don't leave any regrets behind. Hmmm. That makes it sound like you should carry them with you wherever you go. I mean quite the opposite. Don't have any regrets to leave behind. Better? Eh. you know what I mean.