Can It go to Press without a picture of Samantha? I fear it might. It did.
Cindy sent Sam to heaven, my 12-year-old Springer. Sam became her dog when I asked her to care for Sam following my second lung cancer surgery and she was tired of her newly acquired mothership role and deferred freedom.
And vice versa I thought, as a non-preferred bereavement role hit me. Not even a farewell kiss or a party.
What a minute. She’s happy, you’re sad, too bad.
So no one said, Welcome, Home Babs or So Long Sammy, I Love You!
I’ll get over It. But when?