For Maggie.

You were overweight. Your eyes always filled with eye boogers, and beginning to glaze over. She smelled of sour milk on your best days, rotten meat on your worst. You couldn’t walk up the stairs or run as fast as you used to. Your hair fell out at an alarming rate. You were only eleven years old.

I would sleep with you downstairs on the couch or in your little bed to keep you company. Even if you smelled so terrible, I would never leave your side. I hated myself for never loving you as much as you loved me. You were such a beautiful spirit, the only family member that I could tell everything, the only one that never judged me. You were the fire that we had to extinguish because you were hurt. But I loved you. Tumors and all.

You came into our family when we still lived in the gumdrop hills of Sugarloaf, Pennsylvania. You were just a baby, golden hair and brown eyes that could barely open. You were smaller than a football. You were a surprise, too. Margaret we called you. Maggie we knew you.

You were running around the backyard, acres of playground for you to explore. I came home from soccer practice, and I sat in the ticklish grass, the sun hot on my face. Love overcame you as always. What a beautiful sight of Maggie prancing in your direction, all I could do was smile uncontrollably. Your love was contagious. And I was diseased with your cuteness, your vigor, your energy, your youth. So contagious it was dangerous, I might add. You ran around me with black rope following your every move. Tying me up, my neck was bound by your love. And I had the rope burn to prove it. I cried, you cried, we all cried. I still loved you unconditionally.

We put you through many hardships. Moving to Sylvania was one of them, but the major heartbreak was the amount of siblings you had to go through. There was Shadow, the biter; Blizzard, the one that caught the pink yogurt I spilled on his white coat; Max #1, the assailant who caused my friend to get a Tetanus shot; Mila, the only girl who you sort of got along with, but the stereotypes from the beginning of the social chain created a little tension; Max #2, the hyperactive baby who humped anything that breathed; and lastly, Nugget, the other baby expressing his excitement through a symphony of urine when you walked through the door. Each one stayed longer than the last, Mila still living with us and Max #2 living in your older brother’s ex-boyfriend’s house since he brought him into the family. You were the only one who stuck around long enough to witness all of them because you were everything we hoped they would be. Now we know no one can replace you and never will.

I remember one day after kindergarten, we were all in the backyard, swimming and splashing in our chlorine pool while Dad worked the grill. It was a summer day a year or two into the move, and we were comfortable there. You were bigger, three years old, but you didn’t much bigger being the runt of the family. You were shouting, barking, yelling, trying to drink the chemical water even though Mom told you not to. She was painting her nails at the poolside so she didn’t notice. I was six or seven at the time, and swam in my Limited Too green and white peace sign tankini suit, feeling more valuable than a Google stock. Feeling too good about myself, I was unhinged by all the noise you were making, irritated that I couldn’t swim two inches without you yelling at me. I thought of something malicious, and I got out of the pool, and pushed you in. Instantly, I felt guilty of third degree murder. What I have I done? She can’t swim! I jumped in after you as you doggie paddled in the deep end, and I scooped you end in my arms. I dried you off with a thousand towels, hugged you tight, and apologized for a crime you didn’t even know I committed. What a terrible sister I had been at that moment. From then on, I resolved to never hurt you again. You are my life, my flame, my purpose. I did not deserve your love yet you showered me with it like I did.

When I was going through a mental crisis in high school about boys, homework, college, and other trivial problems, you stayed by my side. I could gaze into your eyes and know everything would be okay. A kiss on the nose and a rumble of your stomach was all I needed to comfort my broken heart. Holding your little hands and scratching your back was an act of unity. We understood each other, even though we spoke different languages. You just...knew.

I would sing to you, practice my audition pieces in front of you. You wouldn’t mind how terribly I screeched and how bad my form was. You listened and just wagged in agreement for my effort. I wasn’t good, I was terrible, but to you I was the next Sutton Foster. You would smile with those big brown eyes full of pride. You probably just wanted some of the peanut butter brownies I just made, but I just felt so loved by you. I hope I find something that can love like you did.

I went to the doctor with Mom, Megan and you. I was so frightened. We waited in a room too clean, too white, too disturbing. I just wanted to go home with you and never come back, but we had to wait for your results. I sprawled on the tile floor next to you and stayed down, scratching your back and kissing the top of your head. Everything was going to be okay.

But it wasn't. The doctor said you had tumors. Liver failure. Clogged arteries. Everything we heard was terrible news. I felt such sympathy for you. Why did you have to endure this? You were only 11 years old. You weren’t even that old. You still had time. We took you home, my parents had a decision to make. A sickening decision. One I was not a part of. I gave you such a heartfelt hug that night. I never wanted to let go.

I was at lunch with my friends after yoga. I can’t remember if it was Balance, or Chik-fil-A, or something else. I got a text from Mom.

“Dad and I decided to let her go this afternoon.

She was in such pain, and we wanted to put her out of her misery.

Maggie is in our hearts (insert angel emoji).”

What the hell? I didn’t know they were doing that this afternoon. I would’ve come with them if I knew. I would’ve been by your side till your last breath if I knew what they were doing. I hate myself for not being with you till the end because I know you would’ve done the same for me. You were always there for me, and I was nowhere in sight when you closed your eyes for the very last time.

I’m sorry I wasn’t the best sibling. I loved you, and you just wanted to be with me, play with me, have a backscratch or two, but I was always brushing you off. Homework, studying, hanging with friends were my excuses. I should’ve never turned you away.

I’m sorry, Maggie. You deserved the world. You were such a beautiful and humble spirit. Never hurt us, never hated us, never would leave us. But we left you downstairs in the dark too many times. I should’ve made every effort to spend as much time with you as possible. Now, it’s too late.

May you rest in peace in your favorite place under the dogwood tree in our backyard. You will forever be in my heart, and forever my favorite pet.

To Maggie, the best, cutest, most loving Cockapoo to ever live.

Love Mary.