In Loving Memory of Gatsby
The Mighty Light in a Tiny Body

Gatsby, my little lionheart,
You were born into my hands, and from your very first breath, you were mine. Fragile, fierce, and impossibly small—but somehow carried the soul of something boundless.

You had to be hand raised, and maybe that’s why we were so bonded. I wasn’t just your person. I was your whole world—and you were mine.

You didn’t just wag your tail—you wagged your entire being. You sprinkled your “happy juice” wherever you went, as if even your body couldn’t help but overflow with joy. And when you howled, it was like the sound of pure love echoing out of you.

Your eyes lit up when you saw me. Your face glowed. You didn’t need words—I felt your love in every look, every wiggle, every nuzzle. You were happy in a way that felt holy.

Your kidneys failed you, but your spirit never did. Even as your little body faltered, your light never dimmed. In the end, it was just too big for the body it was given.

I would have done anything to save you. But I will carry your joy, your howls, your light—for the rest of my life. You were my everything, too.

Sleep well, my shining boy.
You were loved beyond measure, and always will be.