Mozart was my Belly, my Fatty, my Hanini Panini. Every single day I miss kissing him and singing my special silly songs to his belly that he seemed to love so much. It was our special thing. At night, I would simply say, "Shall we go to bed, hanini?", and he would follow me. I would move my pillow and tap the spot at the edge of my bed; it was his cue to curl up and sleep next to my head, right beside my pillow, and I would massage his belly until we both fell asleep. That was his spot. That was our nightly ritual, one of many things that we shared that I loved so much.
I had 15 years of so much love and laughter. I had 15 years, and I still feel cheated of more time together. In the end, I at least got to keep my promise to him: that when the time would come, no matter how hard it would be for me, he would go in his favorite spot, held by his favorite human, listening to me sing his favorite belly song over and over. I would not have had it any other way, no matter how hard it was emotionally.
He was mine, and I was his, and my heart has not been the same since the last time I held him. RIP, my sweet boy. I miss you.
Vania Lamanna
Garden Grove