Epilogue
Five years later
Never does it get easy.
Death.
Not even when a long, loved pet dies from old age.
I think back to Molly, our little cocker spaniel, and how she got me through Monica’s college years.
That dog became just as good a friend as Tammy.
Even though she only listened and let me have all the wine.
I miss Molly and her furry body snuggling against me on the couch.
I’d talk, she’d listen.
Her sheepish eyes looked up from her brows each time I spoke.
I miss petting her head, rubbing her ears, and listening to her quiet moans when it felt good on a tender spot.
The day I finally had to put her to rest gutted me from the inside out.
No longer could she eat, and when she smelled food cooking, she would find someplace to become sick, though there was no food in her belly.
No longer could she go on walks, and she had to be carried to go outside to potty.
That’s when I knew she no longer had any quality of life, and it was too cruel to expect her to go on.
I’m no longer a nurse at the hospital, but I still use my skills as an office manager.
Today is a day I’m not fond of because as I said, it never gets easier.
We have lost a long-loved patient, Booker—a seventeen-year-old golden retriever.
I never got the privilege of meeting Booker as a puppy but as an overweight, hard-of-hearing, gray-faced dog.
I stare at the blank piece of paper before me, waiting for the words to come.
I want each letter to be personal and reflect the lives of these unique pets that held their owners’ hearts.
I know I’m on the right track when I begin to cry.
But today is a little hard for me because Booker died next to me, his eyes looking up in appreciation as he took his last breath.
The end was near, and I held his paw until there was no more heartbeat. And now, I’m writing a letter to his owners, who have already buried him in their pet cemetery.
We do this for comfort and peace and to let them understand that they made the right decision. And the right choices are always the toughest.
“Awe, aren’t you just the cutest thing.”
Looking up from the paper, Tammy, as Marilyn, holds a kitten in her hand.
It’s good to see her on these challenging days.
She softly strokes the tiny kitten’s head as it meows quietly.
“Where have you been these days?”
I ask her.
“Around.
You haven’t needed me as much.”
“I always need you.”
I smile at her powdered face and red lips.
“I miss you, you know.”
“I know.
So, we’ve come to help.”
“We?”
“Hello, Jill.”
It’s Michael.
“Hi,”
I whisper and look into his blue eyes.
He’s dressed in jeans and a Ball State T-shirt.
Like the day I first saw him.
He’s sitting in a chair in the waiting area.
It’s good we’re closed because I wouldn’t have time with them. “What are you here to help me with?”
“Your letter.
Are you ready?”
I pick up my pen and look up. “Yes.”
“Jot this down,”
he says, and I begin to write.
Dear family,
Remember when you first saw me as a puppy, all cute and fuzzy? That was the first day I saw you, and I wiggled with excitement, hoping you would pick me.
Through the years, I wasn’t always such a good puppy.
But no matter what I did, you would always welcome me with open arms.
As we grew together, we built beautiful memories.
And even though I’m gone, those memories will keep me alive forever in your heart. We had good times and not-so-good times. But that never stopped you from loving and taking care of me. I want you to know that my life was good because of you. When it came to love, you were all I ever knew and wanted. Though I ran off a few times, I deserved the swats on my behind. But after that, I was back in your arms and heart. So, please go on and know that though you may find another dog, I’ll see that I was always unique to you. I want you to be happy and think of me without tears. Think of me each time you laugh and are loved because you deserve it.
I finish the letter and look up.
“It sounds like you’re talking about yourself.”
“Maybe I am.
But I’m not really here, Jill.”
“Maybe you are.”
He gets up, walks over, and sits at my desk.
“I’m here because I’m always here.”
His finger touches my heart.
“Yes, you will always be.”
I reread the letter, make a few changes, and add our company’s condolences at the bottom.
Your love and unselfishness for your beloved pet was the kindest thing he knew.
We are all so sorry for the loss of Booker and are also saddened here, for we, too, will no longer see him come in.
Please take care and know we are here for you.
Love, Michael
A honk outside tells me my ride is here, so I get up and lock the office.
Looking around once more before stepping outside, I say goodbye to Tammy and Michael.
They both smile and fade into thin air.
I watch the truck pull up the lane and lean on the porch rail.
Crossing my legs, I smile down at my cowboy boots, recalling the night Michael took me to a country bar and sang to me.
Maybe he was preparing me back then.
As Michael and Tammy were preparing for their deaths, I think both were preparing me for life.
The truck parks and outjumps Bindi, followed by her little brother, Michael Julian.
They both run up and give me big hugs.
“Did you guys have a good time?”
“Yes, we did,”
little Michael says.
He’s three and will talk your leg off.
“Grandma, you should have seen it.
It was amazing,”
Bindi says, full of excitement.
I hear the truck door shut and watch him walk toward me in blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a ragged T-shirt.
“Everything locked up?”
“Yes.
Letters all written and ready to send.”
Wrapping his arms around me, he looks into my eyes and kisses me with love.
“I love you, Peaches.”
Peaches.
I’ll never tire of it.
“Sounds like the grandkids were pretty amazed watching a colt be born.”
“Yep. And…,”
Drake says, pulling me into his arms, “They’re ours for the weekend.
I asked Monica if they could stay with us at the farm.”
“Really? Thank you.
You’re such a wonderful man, Doc.
How’d I get so lucky to have a husband like you?”
“Luck had nothing to do with it.
I’ve always been yours, Peach.
Time has a way of moving in many directions.
I’ve always been drawn to you.
That tells me you are connected to my path.”
He’s right.
You may not see it today or tomorrow, but you will look back in a few years and be utterly puzzled by how everything added up and brought you somewhere beautiful—or where you always wanted to be.
And you might even be grateful that things didn’t work out how you once wanted them to.
As for Michael, he will always be part of us.
After his death, I was the sole beneficiary of the Danforth Jet Center. Now, Jordan runs it remotely from home. Monica now runs a preschool in her home and is expecting baby number three in a few months.
“All right.
Let’s load Grammy in the truck and head out to the farm,”
Drake says, swinging little Michael around and giving him a piggyback ride back to the truck.
“I get to ride Honey first,”
Bindi yells, making a beeline to the truck.
Honey is one of the horses on the farm.
I look back once more and read the big letters on the side of the building.
Michael Danforth Animal Hospital.
I did this with Michael’s inheritance, and together, Drake and I run the hospital.
Drake had no problem letting me use Michael’s name, so we signed each letter of condolence.
Love, Michael.
Drake and Tawny divorced right after the twins left for college.
Tawny said she needed a long-needed break and went on a cruise to find herself.
She found herself in cabin 214 in bed with another man.
Once Tawny returned, she asked Drake for a divorce.
We have no idea if she and this man are still together.
The twins are both in graduate school to become veterinarians like their father, and currently, they live together in Michael’s and my old home.
Drake says once they are on their path, he would like to use the house for college students studying to become doctors.
I couldn’t agree more.
Now that I’m much older and wiser, I look back and see my fears differently.
When Michael and I were younger, the fear of losing him scared me.
Because I had given so much of myself to him in pieces, when he left, I feared losing myself.
And that’s when I learned that you must change yourself if you can no longer change a situation.
Because your mind will believe everything you tell it. So, feed it with faith, truth, and, most of all, love.
Tammy and Michael will always be part of my heart and soul.
Together, we’re all woven into a tapestry of memories, good and bad, laughs and cries.
But that’s life.
It’s how we choose to remember someone.
Don’t hang on to the bad memories. Always think of them as part of you. Everyone you love will reflect on you. Life is only preparing you for what’s next. So, be ready, embrace it, and enjoy it fully.
It was hard, so hard, losing Michael.
People ask me how I deal.
Would I have been better off if he’d never come back? And it’s a fair question.
I did lose him again.
But this is what I tell them.
Michael and I were married till death do us part.
It was the one vow he never broke.
I would have never known if I had never become a seventeen-year-old mother and wife to Michael Danforth.
The End