After nine years with Tuffy, I felt the void. Not just his absence — but mine. He brought out the childlike part of me I thought I’d lost. I missed that. I missed that version of me.
I needed that playful love. I let myself have it.
And so, Momo came in February this year.
This tiny, golden, ridiculously joyful being.
Grief is not a wall to get past. It is a room you learn to carry. And love — new love, next love — doesn’t knock down the walls. It builds new rooms.
Tuffy lives in memory, and it is a happy memory. When I think of him now, I smile. I feel warmth. I feel gratitude.
And Momo — my little Momo — is teaching me that joy doesn’t betray the ones we’ve lost.
Thank you, Tuffy, for showing me how to love.
Thank you, Momo, for being in my life and filling our days with your chaotic, joyful self.
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