She sleeps with a small soft-covered album filled with pictures of Molly. She reads and re-reads “Dog Heaven.” And for the past three nights, she’s faithfully visited Molly’s grave.
“I want to go to Molly,” she said tonight. She linked her arm through mine. “Will you come with me, mama?”
I didn’t want to. It hurts to think of my sweet shepherd buried beneath a crusty winter ground.
But I went. Because she wanted me.
When we got to the grave, she undid the bouquet of flowers and spread them around.
“Where’s her head, mama?” she asked.
I pointed, and she placed a yellow rose there.
Finally, I spoke. “We love you, Miss Molly.”
My daughter smiled. Then she knelt and kissed the rock that marks our doggie’s resting place.