For the Love of my Family

Dear Sherri and Sam,

I’ve written and rewritten this in my mind countless times. I still don’t have all the right words, but I know I have to try. Because the love I feel for both of you deserves to be spoken honestly, gently, and from the deepest part of my heart.

First, I want you to know I’ve heard you. And I’ve spent this time away not only missing you both with every fiber of who I am—but also reflecting deeply. There are moments I replay in my head over and over again, especially the day everything fell apart. I didn’t show up the way I should have. I got defensive. I downplayed Sam’s pain after the incident with Chance, and I realize now that it wasn’t just about the physical impact—it was emotional for her. It was scary. And I never want you to feel unsafe, not for a moment. My perception wasn’t Sam’s perception. I failed to realize what that did to her emotionally. I see that now, and I’m truly sorry.

I was blinded by my own grief—from losing Star and Zeus. I needed to save something to save myself, to prevent the pain from turning into something worse that could hurt the people I love most in this world.

I was so focused on surviving everything I was going through physically—recoveries, pain, trying to keep us afloat—that I sometimes lost track of the emotional space you both needed from me. That’s on me. Still, I never stopped loving you. I never stopped seeing Sam as my daughter. I love her dearly. And Aries—our wigglebutt—she mattered deeply to me. I was with her all day, every day. We took walks. We hung in the backyard. She and Chance had moments of peace. She still wiggling her but, led the pack like Star used to. I saw a dog who still had joy—in all that we did. Walks every day. Hanging in the yard every day. I swear to you: she wasn’t miserable. And I loved her with everything I had.

When I adopted Chance, I made a decision out of my own need for emotional support, not seeing clearly how it would affect the house. I was channeling my grief in a way I thought would help me heal, so that I wouldn’t turn inward or take that pain out on the people I loved. I truly believed it would help. But I see now that it created a divide. And even though I saw signs of peace between the dogs, I understand now that your experiences—especially Sam’s—were different. I should’ve protected that space better. He was just a puppy, but that doesn’t excuse my behavior or my failure to understand what you were feeling.

Maybe our communication became limited because you were afraid I’d get defensive or upset. And if that happened, that was wrong too. I want you to know I am still the man you fell in love with. And I’m trying to be better every day. You are my best friend, Sherri, And the daughter I never had Sam, and I never meant to lose sight of that.

I recognize that in the stress of everything—my grief, frustration, miscommunication—I sometimes raised my voice or acted out of desperation to be understood. But never out of hate. Always out of love. If I could take back those moments, I would. I would give anything for the chance to make this right.

Sherri- there was something I was waiting to ask you this summer… maybe one day, you’ll understand how much you’ve always meant to me.

Love always,
Rich

P.S.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading. There’s more below

This card was written just three months ago. The words inside Touched my soul. They are the most honest reflection of the love we had. The man that’s in that card? He’s still here — clearer, steadier, more devoted than ever

A poem of the heart to the most important people in my Life! Sherri and Sam