As I’ve shared before, around August of 2020, Mom was diagnosed with mild cognitive memory loss. At that time, it was not labeled Alzheimer’s or dementia, however, as time plowed on she began to lose more and more of her memory, ability to reason, ability to balance a checkbook, and ability to control her bladder. Yet, through it all, her spirit remained sweet. This was a true blessing.

Mom dearly loved her grand pups, she had a special bond with our Sammy. She kept him for us when we traveled and prior to her move into assisted living, as her dementia was worsening, I would often just call and ask, “Mom, do you want Sammy boy for a few days?”

“Oh, honey, I would love to have that little thing for a few days, just bring him on,” was her classic response.

Sammy gave Mom purpose. He also provided company for her. He was aging, and so was she. He was happy to stay in bed as long as she wanted. He was also content sitting beside her in her chair. Of course, she gave him all the pets he wanted.

As Sammy’s health began waning, I told Terry that if something happened to him; it would break Mom’s heart. Unfortunately, I was right. When we put him down, she missed him as more, if not more, than we did.

We put him down on January 5, 2023. Mom’s birthday was coming up in February and so I searched the internet and bought her a stuffed Bichon. I had been reading about how dementia patients often attached themselves to stuffed animals. Stuffed animals frequently provide comfort and a sense of purpose for people suffering from dementia.

The stuffed animal arrived about a week before her birthday. Surprise, surprise, he was much bigger than he looked online. Terry and I got a good laugh, but I knew Mom would love it.

The joy on her face when she took him out of the strapping, I will never forget and thankfully, we have a video….in case I do. She hugged it and loved on it, and was completely overwhelmed with gratitude. But then, she looked at me and said, “What is his name?”

He came with a little bone collar around his neck and I asked, “Mom, what do you want to name him? I’ll write his name on the collar.” Honestly, I thought she was going to say Sammy. Mom had a few wonderful moments of surprise and without hesitation, she said, “I want to name him Champ.”

I kind of have a sneaking suspicion that over the years of loving on Sammy, Mom had decided if she ever got a dog, she would name him Champ.

Then the oddest and most profound thing happened, shortly after Aunt Trisha’s death, a small teddy bear showed up on her guest room bed. We never did figure out Teddy’s origin, but Mom would say she was a gift from God. “I just walked into the room, and there she was sitting on my bed. I have no clue where she came from.”

Teddy and Champ became Mom’s babies. She loved them, got hair out of their eyes, petted them, and slept with them. “Champ sleeps beside me, and I put Teddy right here next to my boob,” she would often tell us. All of the staff at The Bridge knew about Mama and her babies. In fact, as she was in her last few days, her nurses and aids would always properly position “her babies”.

When Mom died, we placed her babies on the remembrance table because they were with her till the end. After the service, it had already been decided that Amy would take Champ and Haleigh would take Teddy.

On or around, September 7, 2025, when Amy called and told me she was going to buy herself a dog, I asked, “What are you going to name him?”

“Mom, his name has to be Champ. There is no other name it could be.”(We both cried.).

Related post. https://kellyyarborough.blog/2023/01/25/sometimes-choosing-to-let-go-is-a-hard-act-of-love-2/