Lionheart

All her life I have watched over her, cared for her, worried about her, ensured her needs were met, fed her, bathed her, medicated her when necessary, walked her, played with her, hugged her, kissed her. I have loved her with all my heart. I have not been a perfect guardian. I have left her alone too long, pursuing my dreams or my obligations. I have let time slip away all too quickly. I have been late to the table of gratitude in all things concerning her. I have long known these days would come, indeed worried about them far too prematurely. Yet in my precise and detailed payment of attention, I have let the obvious get past me. I have regrets. In the wee small hours, I wish I could go back and relive every single day with her. So many things I would do differently. The moon is a harsh mistress.

Now, when she needs me the most, I am hapless and helpless. Almost seven months ago, I learned the sun was going down on our horizon and nightfall was fast approaching. No miracle of science would have been as kind to her as my decision to refuse to traumatize her further, to take her home with me and keep her safe and happy for as long as I could. This I know. The universe has been very kind to me- while my heart breaks into tinier pieces every day, it has prolonged her time with me and kept her from suffering. She does not know she is ill. It is her amazing spirit in the face of what must be a confusing adversity that keeps me putting one foot in front of the other. For her. As we walk together, slower now, with me coaxing her instead of her dislocating my arm from my shoulder, I see the shadow of her lionheart enveloping us both. More protective of me now than ever before, she straightens into her full height when she senses danger approach us. She pulls every ounce of her strength into her posture and steady gaze directed at any stranger passing by me. I know that if called upon, even in her present weakness and vulnerable physical state, she would fight to the death for me. The best I could ever give her is as small as the least she gives me every day.