Taking a lot of pictures is well worth it when you cram months of living into weeks. Lots of togetherness gets packed into a tight space of time. And the precious moments of knowing he’s home, even if asleep in the next room, are worth documenting.
I treasure each hour of togetherness, and I have learned a sweet letting-go love that involves loving with your whole heart even when you know someone’s slipping through your fingers.
It’s knowing that love still counts, even miles and time and oceans apart.
It’s the limelights he helped you plant in the hard, unyielding soil, that you’ve carefully dried and set proudly on display.
Love is that room painted a little darker than I’d like and a lot more feminine than he’d choose because it’s ours.
It’s that pup drifting off on a chilly day on a bright, sun-warmed bed, abiding securely after being surrendered by the last family.
It’s the safest, most restful place to be.
It’s persevering and choosing to bless when it doesn’t seem to be deserved…
… But forgetting all about those faults and loving that bad dog anyway. It makes the domestic and mundane extraordinary. It’s the very best of all.