Since saying goodbye to my sweet puppy girl in December, she, Ken, and Quantum have been on my mind even more than usual. Though Ken and Quantum never met Kallie, they are intimately connected to each other. Sweet Quantum was the genesis of all things Chow Chow for me. As a doting pet papa, I’d always talked to Kallie about her “big sister” Quantum and her “papa Kenny.”

Losing Kallie is inextricably tied to losing Ken, though Ken himself hated that turn of phrase. “You’re not losing me. You lose a child in a grocery store,” he’d remind me. “Just say I died.” He had a remarkable sense of humor, even at a time when it might have seemed impossible. And I’ll admit I can agree to some extent. Because even though he died, he isn’t lost to me. He will never be lost to me.

I ran across this picture as I was looking through my photos, searching for something that I completely forgot about once I saw this. I remember this night very well. We were playing Trivial Pursuit in the guesthouse, enjoying each other’s company–and clearly–enjoying snoozing Quantum’s, too. (When Ken and I moved to LA in 2002, we lived in the guest house of his brother and sister-in-law. I’ve written about it before.)

I love this picture for so many reasons. Of course, it’s a great shot of Ken’s handsome face, but the tenderness in his love for gorgeous Quantum always melts my heart. Old pictures need to be resurfaced sometimes to remind you of something you may have forgotten about. It’s also a reminder to enjoy those tiny moments–those little nothings that contain so much of what you want to be reminded of–even some twenty-plus years later.

I sometimes wonder if people think I live in the past. Understandable, I suppose, given how I love to look back and write about my past–particularly with Ken–in hopes of sharing lessons I’ve learned. I don’t super care 😘, but I also offer no apologies for reflecting on a part of my life that was so special while I was living it, galvanized by a loss that came far too soon.

Meeting Ken ignited something in me that I only partially realized when he was alive–but even more so after he died. Something about his death revealed gifts in me I didn’t know I had or didn’t have the wherewithal to pay attention to. Examining my past allows me to live in my present with gratitude and appreciation for everything that has brought me to where I am–who I am–in a life I love so very much.