Honey would drag me down the hallway when we’d go to see mom. And when we got to mom’s room, we’d usually find her sitting in her chair. And Honey would beeline to her and go to work licking her face and her ears. Mom loved it. She would say Honey was the best dog she’d ever seen. She’d say it made her want to get a dog. And if Honey wasn’t with me, she’d ask, “Where’s doggie?”

Towards the end, just before we left to go back to New Jersey, Honey never wanted to leave mom’s room. I’d say the usual, “Let’s go!” and I’d grab her leash. Normally when I do that, she’s up and by my side and ready to go. But she stopped doing that those last few nights. Instead, she’d just raise her head from her spot on mom’s bed and look at me.

She knew something was up. She knew something was different. That’s where dogs are smarter than us.

I took this photo one afternoon while mom was taking a nap. This was back in early January when she was still in rehab, and before she’d moved to the apartment we found for her at the truly wonderful assisted living place, Horizon Bay, which had a special “memory care” unit.

Honey’s not with me right now. She’s back in New Jersey. And I know it’s silly, but I feel kind of bad that there’s no way for her to get “closure.” Because I still think Honey wonders where mom is. Last week, it seemed like it was occupying her mind. Or maybe I was just projecting. But I think it’s why she had taken to panting with worry whenever we got in the truck.