I thought about you, today, Star, and I wished you could have been with me today. I thought about how much you loved the water, and how great you were at swimming. You learned to swim before I did, and you were the main reason that I, at five years old, demanded swimming lessons.

When we went to the park, you would go down to the water. I couldn't stop you, no force on earth could have stopped you. You waded out into the freezing mountain runoff like you were home and paddled around, looking at me expectantly until I hurled a stick as far as I could into the water. You always brought it back to the land, but you forced me to pull it away from you. Your strong jaws were too much for me when I was little.

Today I went on a boat on a river. You always loved rivers and camping, and you loved riding in the car and looking out the front window. If you'd been in the boat with us, I know you would have been pleased.

There was water splashing all around, so no one noticed that a couple tears were on my face.

I still think about you. I love you, Star.