Ana Luján had a handwritten list of goals.
Graduate, quit, get another job, and “go somewhere else with Uma”. Uma was her little dog, her lifelong companion, the one who was there when she graduated as a Special Education teacher. But before they could fulfill that last dream together, Uma died.
Ana said her dog waited until she arrived so she could say goodbye to her. “I miss you, Uma, my girl, but I accept this because if I didn’t feel pain, it would mean I never loved you”, she wrote. Today she continues writing letters to her every day, though she can no longer read them: “the paper gets wet and the pen doesn’t show up well”, she confessed.
A list of dreams left incomplete, and a love that didn’t need to fulfill them all to be real.