They always give us more than we can ever give them back,
although we try, part of the pact we make with them to make sure they get what
they need, when we need them as much as they need us, an unfair arrangement
from the start when we know it will never last, their span of years far shorter
than ours and so – if we care – we stuff their short lives with as much stuff
as it takes to make life worth living, for them and for us, though we must
ultimately accept the inevitable; they always leave too soon, and leave a space
in us we cannot easily fill, if at all, and we must compensate with memory of
the unconditional love they gave us, a rare thing in world where all else comes with conditions we
can’t hope to meet.
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