*This article was originally published on June 9, 2016

Dear Titan,

I woke up this morning and you weren't there. That's the first time that has happened. It's not the first time we haven't been together as a four-Being family, but the first time you were the missing Being. I'm so sad and heartbroken that we had to say goodbye to you yesterday. I say we because Diane and Malia are also heartbroken.

I gave up on the notion that I'm some kind of tough guy, immune to feelings. Although I'm good at numbing them out. You know very well that I'm a softy. So were you. It's probably no shock to you that I'm a fucking mess right now.

It was only a couple years ago when I realized how much of a family man I truly am. I had never considered myself that before, especially since I don't have children. And although Diane and I joked about you and Malia being our "furry children" we were quite aware that you weren't really children. Or even like our children. You're pack animals and we are the pack leaders. Yet, we are very much a family, the four of us. It's just that now, instead of us four, there are only three. And losing you has been a giant kick in the gut. I always knew that saying goodbye would be tough, I didn’t expect it would be like this.

Death isn't new to any of us. Diane and I have both lost family members, friends, and other pets to life's final turn around the track. But I've never felt like this. Perhaps it's due to the intimacy of our little family, the amount of life experienced during the last twelve years, the time spent together, or the work it took to keep us all together.

I'm not an expert in grief or mourning, but I'm guessing there are different levels to experience. The depth of the pain and sadness I'm experiencing right now must be reflective of the depth of love I had, and still have, for you, my sweet, sweet boy. I can't say with honesty that I've felt this much pain over the death of anyone or anything before.

Change is the only constant in life. I could have gone another decade without this change. As much as I love adventure and experiences, I found the most joy in the evenings spent with our little family watching movies or Modern Family reruns. I would often look at you, Diane, and Malia all cuddled together on the couch sleeping and think, "I love being a part of this." I know it probably sounds silly to some people, but what gave me such happiness was gazing upon my family, as weird as that may seem. We all had somehow found each other and built a life. That life with you started twelve years ago in Washington, DC and took us five thousand miles away to Hawaii where Malia joined us. For the last decade, it's been the four of us travelling through life together, intertwined, through every adventure. I would give anything in this moment to continue that journey together.

You and me talked for a long time Tuesday evening after Diane and I finalized the decision. You were suffering so much that day and we had agreed that once your bad days outnumbered your good days we would make the difficult decision to say goodbye. Please know it was the most difficult decision we've ever made. My fear is that we waited too long and you suffered more than you had to. If so, please forgive us. We both loved you so much. You were such an integral, loud, pain-in-the-ass, important part of our family. Neither of us wanted to let you go. I didn't want to let you go.

Over the last several months, we watched you struggle. It wasn't anything new, except you weren't bouncing back like you had before. Your tail wagged less. Your breathing became more of a struggle. Your gas was out of this world. Your allergies to everything were getting the best of you. We knew you were tired. And I was a jerk much of the time, yelling at you to be quiet, getting frustrated with you for following me from room to room as you whined, sleeping on my feet while I tried to work. Fuck! You were even noisy when you were asleep. And I sometimes pushed you away, whining about you whining. I know you were looking to me for comfort and love because you knew the clock was ticking. I'm so sorry. You put your paw on my arm and wagged when I apologized to you Tuesday night. I know you forgave me, but I want to let you know again.

The house was so quiet yesterday when we got home. Tuesday, I exclaimed that I only wanted some peace and quiet. Now I would give anything to hear you bark like a seal, have you follow me around, feel you laying on my feet. Anything.

I woke up this morning and you weren't there. It was 5:45 AM. Diane was already up, although her regular alarm clock wasn't there to wake her. Normally, I slept through your early morning bathroom bark. This morning, my eyes opened to silence. We walked Malia around the block. Diane held her leash. My hands were empty.

You've left a giant hole in our family and we are all feeling it. We're not mad at you. This is part of life. For a guy that has excelled at numbing himself to hide from pain, I'm uncomfortably lost in this feeling, unable to use logic or reason to escape or change it. In there lies the gift, albeit a painful one. For this pain offers me the opportunity of awareness – being aware of how deeply I cared for you, how deeply I loved you. You meant so much to me and to us. I'm super aware of how much my little weird family means to me.

Nothing will ever fill the void left by you passing. Both Diane and I are okay with that. My fear is that you are feeling as lost as I am, looking for us, crying out for us. I shared that with Diane last night. We told you we would always take care of you. I was so afraid that you thought we'd failed you. I couldn't bear you being afraid. That sounds silly now. But as we stared in each other's eyes until your's closed, I couldn't help but wonder where you were going. In which dimension were you headed? I whispered in your ears until your heart finally stopped beating. I wanted you to know that you'll be okay. Better than okay, you'll be able to breathe freely, without constantly itching, without pain. I also wanted you to know that we'll be okay, too.

I woke up this morning and you weren't there. You also weren't struggling to catch your breath. You weren't scratching. You weren't in pain. You weren't suffering. I believe that wherever you are today, you're still a stubborn ass and giving life hell. But you're much more carefree about it. And if you're standing before the throne of God, I trust that you're taking a shit at the foot of the that throne and wagging about it. And God, well, she's laughing as she cleans it up, welcoming you. That makes me smile.

I woke up this morning and you weren't there. Or were you? I really don't understand this afterlife stuff, so I'm not sure if your energy is still hanging around, waiting for me to give you a piece of my sandwich. I want you to know that Diane and I are both so grateful we found you and you found us. I'm so grateful for you saving my life so many years ago when I thought it was over. We're so grateful that you befriended the lady in Waikiki that stood by the zoo and screamed at the top of her lungs, terrifying everyone around her. We're grateful that you pulled toward her, rubbing your body against her dirty clothes, accepting her pets and returning her kisses. We're so grateful that you gave her the opportunity for lucid conversation and love. You always liked the crazy ones.

You were such a fucking weird dog. We often thought you were a human that came back in dog form, with your deep soulful eyes and ability to hold a conversation. So many people have sent me and Diane messages directed straight at you. You made a lot of friends throughout the years.

Mostly, we're both grateful that you were part of our lives. Even though I’m hurting, I wouldn't take back a fucking minute I got to spend with you. Not one. Our lives were forever changed by you. The Titan, Malia, Diane, Paul dynamic will never again exist. That's hard to swallow. But it did exist and we will always cherish that time. We will always cherish you. I hope you don't worry about us. Always the nurse and caretaker, Malia has already been licking our tears and burying her face under our chins. Just like she did for you. She misses you. She's been looking around for you. We all have.

I woke up this morning and you weren't there. That's going to take some time to get used to. But I will. We will. What we won't do is forget you. Not ever. It won't happen. You were a one-in-a-million kind of dog. A lover. An ass. A snuggler. A whiner. A talker. A jerk. A fucking Titan in our world.

I love you and am going to miss you more than these words explain.

Until we meet again, my sweet, sweet, Titan,

Your best friend.