I know this blog is meant to be filled with awesomeness, but I constructively deal with my pain by writing it. and some long time clients knew Roarke, even enjoyed his company at sessions. He was a good beast. One of the best. and 2016 sucks.

Dear Roarke,

I’m sitting here, trying to find a way to start this. Behind me, Argo is playing with all of his new Christmas toys and even though I can’t seem to breath, I love that dog with every inch of me. I’ve only had him for two months, but the thought of losing him makes me feel like someone is cracking my ribs apart individually. I’ve called him my “redemption dog,” because you, the real true love of my life, I lost you. I gave you up two years ago, to save myself, and I will never forgive myself for it. Ever. I’m so ashamed.
You’re fucking dead and that really fucking sucks. When I rehomed you in 2014, it was to my ex’s parents, who adored you. I knew you would be in safe hands and I was allowed to come over whenever to see you. I became the absentee parent, taking you for a couple hours to the beach, showering you with love…and then crying when I had to return you. Each time I began to leave, you would watch me, waiting for me to ask you to get back in the car. So when I was last in Hawaii, I chose to not see you. To not do that to you. and I’ll probably regret that forever too. I thought I was loving you in the best way I knew how, but maybe I was just being selfish. If I couldn’t have you entirely, I couldn’t handle a fraction.

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I remember the day I got you. I had impulsively decided one day I needed a dog and it had to be a border collie. Somehow, the stars aligned and on Craigslist, a breeder in Makakilo was selling pups for $500. No papers, no health background…but I didn’t care. I walked into the dark home and looked at this litter of puppies. There were six of you, all tired but wanting to play. I’m not going to lie: I picked your brother. He seemed the most responsive. But as I walked out the door with your brother in my hands…you followed me. You followed me with your belly flat to the ground, hoping I would pick you instead.

So I did.

You were my buddy in all things. You would comfort me through divorces and breakups. You were the energetic hiking dog, happily carrying all of my stuff in your backpack. We would swim in the ocean for hours and even after all of the activity, you were ready for more. We would drive around Hawaii, you in the passenger seat, tongue rolling around, watching me with your soft brown eyes. To you, I was a goddess.

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I’ve missed you every day. Every. Day. It took me three weeks to stop calling Argo your name. I see some of you in him and it temporarily helps me feel better. But no dog on this earth can duplicate your soft soul. They say you went quietly, sweetly, as you slowly gave up. I sobbed on the phone as I FaceTimed you, selfishly hoping you would recognize my voice. But you were so disinterested in everything. You had just given up. Did you die of a broken heart?

I hope you came here. I hope you’re being the creeper watching me in my living room, as I teach Argo fetch. I hope you’re here when we go on road trips. I hope you’re here when I’m sad and lonely. I just hope you’re here.

and if you aren’t, I really hope you greet me in the afterlife with a tennis ball. Because I fucking love you. and I’m really sorry.

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