I couldn't help but purchase a copy today when Frankie and I visited.  The legacy of love of this facility is touching and remarkable.

At the sweet urging of a friend, Frankie and I were asked to visit with three special ladies at the community hospice.  Each had read Frankie's book.  My friend, Sara, thought perhaps they would love to meet the real Frankie.  Little did I realize I was about to be given a gift…

One woman in particular, who I will call Mary, was thrilled to meet Frankie!  She held open her arms and gave me a big hug.  She told me Sara told her to expect a surprise.  Mary said, "I was praying I would get to meet Frankie and here you are."  Mary and her husband (who recently passed away), had read Frankie's book together.  Picturing that beautiful image brought a strong emotion to my heart.  Mary kept telling me how much we made her day.  To see her face light up in the midst of just losing her husband was a gift to me… to know Frankie brought a joy into her hear at a time her heart is so full of grief is beyond words to explain.

Being in that moment with Mary is one of the "quality of moments" we must grasp, hold onto, say grace for and reach out for more.  I had been putting off getting involved as a volunteer with Frankie in hospice for fear of the unknown… but Sara gave me the gift of a calling to meet three lovely ladies today, which in turn sparked a need in me to expand on Frankie and my calling.

Being at the community hospice today I felt a need to reach out more… to care more… to leave more Frankie imprints… to bring joy and strength of the love of a dog.  And dogs do it without saying a word… but it is "clear to our hearts" what they do for us.  How grateful I am Frankie leads me down a "River of Life" that is more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.

(All names have been changed to protect their privacy)

Emptying out the overgrown flower pots, overgrown flower beds and brown crusted hydrangea’s is never easy, as it means saying good-bye to summer… thank goodness I have a crew that makes the job seem less daunting.

The risk of joy can seem great, because an end eventually comes.  But, is it really the end?  I don’t think so.  It is a new beginning.  Having the courage to look to the new horizon is what living in the moment is all about.  Living your joy, embracing your pain, leaving the world a bit better is a big part of why we are here.

Those are the words I wrote in an article titled, “Living in a Dog’s Moment.”  That article was reprinted a few days ago in a community newsletter called “Hand in Hand,” which is put together by the Vince Lombardi Cancer Clinic.

Liz, from the clinic sent me a copy and the timing could not have been more perfect.  I received it yesterday, Oct. 8^th.  I had just returned from the vet clinic after releasing my cat, Dani to heaven.  My heart is heavy knowing Dani will no longer be present in furry form within the cottage walls of my home.  Bu knowing I helped ease her suffering brings me peace.

I rescued Dani, a dark tabby striped cat from the shelter.  The shelter gathered she was about nine months old when I met her.  At the time I was looking for a kitty, I had my heart set on an orange tabby striped kitty, but there was not one to be found.  When I saw Dani it was love at first sight.  I just knew she was the one.  She had many health issues, but I brought her home and nursed her back to health.

She was a quiet presence in our cozy little home.  She never was a lap cat or liked to be held.  I could hold her for about 2 to 3 minutes and it had to be upside down on her back.  She always made the rules and I obliged. 

This past Saturday I knew things had to change and we had to find an answer to why she continued to lose weight.  For the first time in 6 years she let me hold her.  I rocked back and forth with her little paws on my arm.  I promised I would do what I could to help her.

After her blood work came back normal once again, an x-ray was done.  The x-ray showed fluid all around her organs and in her belly.  The vet felt pretty sure it was Feline Infectious Peritonitis (FIP).  There is no known cause or cure and she would continue to decline.  The test could have been sent in to confirm, but I said no.  Even if it came back negative, we were still dealing with something seriously wrong.  I could not let her suffer any longer.  I knew in my heart I had to help her get to heaven.  We each know our animals best, and trusting that knowing, and then being able to help end their suffering is a gift.

As hard as it was to say goodbye, I felt at peace when she was no longer suffering.  It hurt so much more (and I felt so helpless) to see her fade away slowly as she had been.  Last night I dreamt she was meowing to me.  I saw her clearly and I believe it was her way of letting me know she arrived safely in heaven.  And I have absolutely no doubt she is laying beside Cassie Jo (my chocolate lab) and purring loudly and contently. 

Thank you, Dani for bringing me the simple joys of life… like remembering to sit a moment or two and soak up the warm sun… to watch the fluttering dance of birds in the bird bath… to love a nap on a Sunday afternoon…to be a quiet presence, but an impactful one just by living only as a kitty can do.  I miss you, but am grateful to have had you as part of a chapter in my life.