To my wife—
who brought home a small, fragile kitten and made her part of our family.
You gave her a world of safety, wonder, and love;
you gave her belonging—
a simple act that spoke volumes about the essence of care.
To my daughter—
who loved her instantly,
with no need for explanation or permission.
You remind me every day
that the heart does not calculate worth.
And to Bambam—
who stayed with us through the seasons,
curled into the corners of our days.
This book carries the questions you helped shape—
about kinship, care, and the courage it takes
to see beyond ourselves. Your presence endures—
only in another form.
…
In Memory of Henry
My Saint Bernard.
You were mine long before this book took shape,
but everything I write about connection, emotion, and life beyond words carries something of you.
Your love was instinctive, enormous, and whole—
a presence that made the world feel softer.
I miss you, always.
This is for you, too.
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