It seems things have been quiet around these parts for just long enough now that people are suddenly starting to wonder if I’m okay. (“Blink twice if you’re not in any danger” was one of my favorite inquiries.)

My dad passed away at the end of January. The people I’m closest to know what a horrible, dark struggle every day has been for him since my mom’s death and how he never recovered from the blow of losing her. And while I would give ANYTHING for him to have never known pain like that, I’m still grateful for these last four years as I got close to him and learned to understand him in a way I never would have otherwise.

Rather than dwell on everything terrible, I’m going to relay this story instead: The day before my dad passed he was completely non-responsive for hours to both me and his caregiver, and we were both sure he’d transitioned and was an hour or two from leaving. Stella was with us, but I’d kept her leashed all day so she wouldn’t jump up onto his bed—he was so frail she’d break his bones if she landed on him. Late in the afternoon she’d been napping for a while so I took off her leash, wanting her to be more comfortable and sure she’d figured out by now she needed to stay down. The minute I stepped away…up she immediately went, landing perfectly positioned in the small sliver of space between the bed’s edge and my dad. She very carefully put her face down into his face and my dad suddenly opened both his eyes and said very quietly and very clearly the only words he’d spoken all day and, as it would turn out, the last words he ever would speak: “Hi Stella, Hi Stella.” She got down off the bed then, seemingly satisfied I think, because she never tried to get up with him again.

After I adopted Stella and she’d been with us for a while, she began to give my dad a new sense of purpose in a life that felt so emptied out and purposeless to him. He’d come see her every day while I was at work and take her out for long, meandering walks, two old souls finding company and comfort with each other. They’d sit on the couch and watch TV (“She really loves Bonanza!”), and he’d endlessly rub her belly and baby-talk her. He ordered a My Pit Bull is Family magnet for his Harley, though by the time he got around to doing that, he really couldn’t ride much anymore. Stella was magic for him back then, and she remained magic for him all the way to that surprising moment at the end—a radiating light who kept away the darkness that was always just an arm’s length away. For anyone who may wonder why I love Stella and cling to her the way I do, this is why. This is exactly why.

I hope my dad is at peace now and that maybe he and my mom are somewhere together—the only wish he carried in his heart these past long, lonely years. I miss him profoundly (as I still miss my mom) and am struggling a bit with being an orphan now, with no parents and no other family, but I will forever be infinitely proud to be my father’s daughter.