A place for the family
we never stop loving.

The day Mom stopped seeing me...

I thought I had done something wrong.

Every morning, I woke Mom with my nose. But today, her hand stayed still.

I waited by my bowl. She didn’t say, “Not yet.”

I brought her the leash. She put on her shoes... and left without me.

I chased her. I barked. I jumped. Nothing made her turn around.

Maybe I had been bad. Was Mom still mad at me?

I followed her home, promising I would be good. I only wanted her to see me again.

Baby, I tried so hard to be happy today. Don’t worry about me.

But the fur in her hand... smelled like the hospital.

Yesterday, at the hospital...

Mom held me through our last goodbye. Then I knew: I never came home.

I can’t wait by the door for Mom anymore.

I can’t comfort Mom when she cries.

I can’t remind her to eat.

Who will care for Mom now? Wait... Maybe I can still do one thing.

The fur in her hand smelled only like the hospital.

No.

The last piece of me she kept should smell like home.

So I ran.

Sofa.

Rug.

Blanket.

Pillow.

I left a little piece of home everywhere I could.

The next morning, Mom found my fur on the sofa.

There you are, baby.

I couldn’t stay to care for her. But I left a piece of home beside her.