When I was five years old, my parents brought home a tiny black puppy. I named him after Toto, the dog from The Wizard of Oz. I couldn’t pronounce the name Toto very well, so his name became Todo. He was my first love.

Back then, dogs didn’t sleep inside, and definitely not in bedrooms. Mama gave me a stuffed dog that slept on my bed every night instead. I named him Inside Todo.

I’m 63 now. Outside Todo has been gone for quite a while, but Inside Todo is still with me. He is ragged, heavy with dust, and missing his nose. When I was in college, my roommate and I tried to stick it back on, but the glue started smoking, and we had to douse Inside Todo with water. 

He ain’t pretty, but he’s been loved on for over 50 years.

He went to college with me, to Atlanta, to Ann Arbor, Michigan, to Macon, back to Atlanta, and back to Macon.  

A few months ago, Mark and I moved to my Mama and Pop’s old house. Inside Todo, who had lived there when I was 18, came with us. Back home for good.

Mark allows one dog on our bed. Our Maltese, Lola-Pie, sleeps between us with her eyes closed and four legs in the air. Todo stays on the floor by my side of the bed, using Mama’s old purse as a pillow.

As Mama’s dementia worsened, she guarded her purse with fierce determination, like a Mama Bear protecting her cubs. She filled it with her treasures: old lapel pins, some wadded tissues, and the occasional cheese grater. The purse’s lining was torn, with loose threads tangled with bits of torn receipts, old earring backs, and hearing aid batteries.

Each morning, I almost step on Todo and Mama’s purse.

I remember waking up as a little girl with a stuffed animal under my arm, wiping the sleep out of my eyes.

I remember Mama searching for her purse, then holding it close to her chest when she found it.

I never knew my most prized treasures would be a stuffed, noseless dog and a ragged purse, both full of dust…and memories. 

In 1986, Newsweek magazine reported that the chances of a woman finding a husband after age 40 were approximately 2.6%. 

I was 60. I had never been married before. Why would I even want the complications of late-life marriage, even if I did find someone? 

Three years ago, on April 15^th, I met a man. I knew right when he turned around that Mark was my husband. On September 23^rd, I married him.

I didn’t know. But God knew. He saw my tears, the times I messed up, the dreams I had that I had given up on a long time ago.

He knew.

The God of the Universe knew. He had known for 63 years.

And He didn’t forget me. Or us. And He didn’t forget you either.

Happy Anniversary, Sweet Husband…

And thank you, Abba…for everything.