Be kind. Be loyal. Believe that you are brave: Ongoing life lessons from the sweetest girl in the world

The sweetest girl in the world and I talked a lot. Or rather, I talked; she listened. 

We'd see the headlights of a car during our predawn walks, and I'd tell her, "Just think. That driver probably had been complaining about having to get up so early, and now can't wait to get to work or school to tell everyone, "I saw the sweetest girl in the world this morning!"

I'd fling open the front door after going for a swim or struggling through a spin class, announcing to her, "I thought about you the whole time I was in the pool/at the gym!"

If she was snoozing in the sun, I could only get three words out -- "sometimes a girl..." -- before she'd immediately rouse herself, not even waiting for the next words, "has to go for a walk. She just has to."

So we'd go. As if she hadn't heard it a half dozen times already that day, I'd remind her that she is indeed the sweetest girl in the world. Not only that, I'd say, "You're also the most loyal...the most kind...the most beautiful...the most courageous."

At times, she didn't believe the last one. Storms scared Angie, and she always seemed kind of embarrassed to seek shelter in a closet, or to not-so-casually stayed glued to our legs. 

But before we filled out each others' lives, she'd been deserted on a country road, where she lived for a week before being lovingly lured away by a wonderful rescue group. For those seven days, though, who knows what weather she endured while waiting for whoever dropped her off to return? 

So whatever her response when the barometric pressure rose or dropped or whatever it does before a storm, or however she huddled once it hit, I reminded her how much courage it took to stay put waiting...and that she never had to worry about storms or anything else again. Worrying was my job, I'd tell her, and I was very good at it.

We said goodbye to our precious girl two days after Christmas. Outside my window right this minute, the rain is so loud and the lightning so bold and I miss her more than ever. This is the first storm we've had since she died, and I want to look after her. To remind her that I do the worrying around here. To assure her, most of all, that she is most courageous girl I've ever known.

I may have been the one who did all the talking, but Angie had much more to say than I. She reminded me that it was OK to be afraid, and to turn to those we love when we need reassurance and comfort. 

And when I'd tell her she is the sweetest, the bravest, the kindness and most beautiful girl in the world; when I'd exalt her big heart and pure spirit, I'm realizing now that I was also reminding myself of the person I need to be.

Now that Angie has left this sweet earth, I miss touching her while talking to her. But we still have conversations. These days though, I'm the one who's listening.