It was a cloudy Sunday morning in early February. My family had gathered earlier that weekend for a difficult goodbye, and now most had disappeared to their various activities, taking their sadness along with them. In the living room, only three of us remained: My five-year-old grandchild Zoe, me, and my beloved dog Piper, who was sitting at my feet as close to me as possible, as usual. Thankfully, she was breathing easy, the hacking cough of the past few days momentarily silenced.

I recognized a teachable moment. “Zoe,” I said, “did your mom and dad tell you about Piper?”

“Yes,” she replied, stroking Piper’s silken ears.

“What did they say?”

“That Piper was really sick.”

“Did they tell you that Piper is going to die?”

She nodded, slowly. And then, “Jamma?” as my grandkids call me, “Is it gonna be soon?”

“Yes, Zoe. It’s going to be very soon.”

Zoe nodded again, a serious look on her little face. “What will happen then? After she dies?”

Ah. Here it comes, I thought. Don’t screw this up. I took a deep breath to prepare.

“Well, remember when Bubba died?”

Bubba was the older half-brother of Piper. He died when Zoe was three.

“Yes.”

“And you know how we always say that even though Bubba isn’t here anymore, even though we can’t see him, we can always keep him in our hearts by remembering him, right?”

A big smile lit up her face. “Yes! And we can see him when we look at the moon!” She loved their family tradition of howling at a full moon, believing as they did that Bubba was up there, answering their howls with one of his own. “Is that what will happen to Piper? After she dies? Will she go to the moon, too?”

I thought for a moment. “I’m not sure what will happen after Piper dies, or where she’ll go. Some people believe there’s a place called heaven and that people, and maybe even dogs, go there after they die. I’m not sure about that. But I am absolutely sure that as long as we remember and talk about Piper, she’ll always be in our hearts. Because that’s love. And love never, ever dies.” I smiled and pulled Zoe onto my lap. Not bad, I thought, holding her tight.

Zoe snuggled closer and then pushed away to look deep into my eyes.

“Jamma,” she said. “Your breath stinks.”

And just like that, life goes on.