Imagine this.

I can't bring myself to put a picture of Pele here. At least not as I start this post. It'll actually be a miracle if I can type it without dissolving into tears or the hysterical crying that has become my own personal soundtrack these past three days.

I went up to SF for a week of work. When Valentine's Day went by without incident (I was in the best mood ever, notable for a single girl in these here United States of Hallmark), I should have known something was up.

On Friday morning my parents called me to tell me that Pele had had an accident - he broke his leash and dashed at a moving car. I dared to hope that he would recover. I promised myself and God (again, Persian superstition) that I would volunteer with him, that I'd spend more time with him, anything. But it quickly became apparent that I needed to buy a ticket home. I was too much of a mess to do it, so Helen got one for me. How I got myself back home is a blur, even now.

I have never cried so much in public. There is something refreshing about not filtering yourself for other people. We spend so much time censoring ourselves lest we do something unappealing to random strangers on the street. Fuck it. Let them see me be raw and miserable. Let them see someone sobbing so hard she can't breathe and she can't talk and she can't see out of her puffy eyes. Let them see that she is drunk with agony and can't even see them, even if they're standing in front of her. I sobbed the entire way home, in the cab, on BART, on the shuttle, sitting in the boarding area, and during my one hour flight. But tears don't change the course of fate I suppose.

They promise me he died peacefully (now I'm crying. Told you so). I walked into the hospital to see my dog-- our dog -- lying in what looked like a deep sleep. I blocked out the tubes and pet him for a moment, selfishly enjoying the sensation of his false breathing and his heartbeat. But he was asleep and he would never wake up. They told me then that they'd just kept him alive so I could come back and say goodbye.

I miss him so much. A part of me feels dead inside right now. Just numb. Having been through tragedy before, I have hope somewhere far away in myself that it will get better, that time will ease the sadness. That when I think of him it will be with a smile, not with a wave of nausea and tears. That I'll be able to remember him bouncing around, tongue wagging, smiling up at me or yowling a high-pitched yawn of excitement for a silly walk around the block. The way he deserves to be remembered.

Like shock therapy, I'm reminded of how precious life is. As much as I try not to take things for granted, I did. I must have. I will have to live with the fact that I could have shown him my love in more little ways. There will always be walks I should have taken him on or games I should have played with him. I'm really good at the guilt game, in case you hadn't guessed. I guess it's a control freak thing. Feeling guilty is a hell of a lot easier than feeling helpless and sad, isn't it?

The only thing keeping me sane is the way he bounded for the door every time I came over. Sliding to a stop (yes, just like the cartoons) and pressing his back into my leg to encourage me to pet him a hello. His running greetings were his way of showing that, faulty as I was, he loved me anyway. I can't say it enough- he was just a furry ball of love. All he did was love us. What could hurt more than losing someone who loved you unconditionally?

As my family huddled around each other this weekend breaking down on each other's shoulders I'm bewildered by how lucky I am to have each and every one of them. The hugs are extra tight and we're freer with our emotions - especially affection -- than we have ever been before. Pele brought this out in us.

But right now, make no mistake, there's a big fucking crater taken out of my heart. I have promised myself to remember him in good ways and to stop being sad. Soon. But maybe just not yet.

If you have a dog, give it an extra big hug tonight.

Pele (2002-2007), you were an absolute gift and I will always love you.